


Moirai

by Xela



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Gangbang, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sounding, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Nerada, post-Vulcan, post-three-fourths-of-his-entire-class-dying, there's no downtime. For months afterwards everyone is scrambling to make sense of the world. Pavel finds himself adrift with needs he can't ignore, and only one person who can really fill them.</p><p>The Moirai are the Greek fates; they give, spin and end life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clotho

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over Russian text for a translation!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clotho is the spark of life; she is the spinner.

Post-Nerada, post-Vulcan, post-three-fourths-of-his-entire-class-dying, there's no downtime. For months afterwards everyone is scrambling to make sense of the world. Star Fleet fast-tracks its most promising recruits and pushes production on its star ships. Pavel is trusted with teaching an entire host of newly commissioned officers the fine art of teleportation—and every time he flashes to the look on Commander Spock's face as he realized his mother never made it off Vulcan.

By the time Enterprise is fixed and Star Fleet secure enough to let them go, Pavel is exhausted. It takes weeks for their first-day jitters to wane, for the ship to establish its rhythm and find its feet. Pavel gets used to being bridge crew, to the Captain's jump-first style of leading, to exchanging looks with Sulu over their console.  
They're deep in the black when the itch settles between his shoulder blades. Easy to ignore, easy to shrug off at first it grows until Pavel's squirming in his seat, distracted and moody. He needs release. He needs to submit.

Too bad his last partner died in the skies of Vulcan.

***

Finding a partner on ship proves to be daunting. They are either incompatible, uninterested or—the worst—exes. He writes himself a vid program that helps a little: a red-haired woman with stern eyes and a sharp voice or a blue-eyed man with a deep growl, depending on his mood. But vids can't touch; they can't suit word to action. They can't make the tension bleed away.

Pavel hasn't felt this frustrated since he was first trying to figure out what was missing in his life, coming to terms with his sexuality in his small village.

The need settles deep in him, insistent and tenacious. It creeps up his spine and settles in his shoulders. The nurses in Sickbay soon know his name and hand him painkillers for his tension headaches with sympathetic smiles. It doesn't take long for the smiles to grate on him. Even Sulu's easygoing quips rub him the wrong way and Pavel retreats further into himself.

With each passing day Pavel becomes more distracted. Less focused, more jittery. He makes an uncharacteristic error in his calculations one day and Sulu makes some off-hand lewd remark and Pavel just snaps. He can't even remember what he spit out at Sulu but the suffocating silence in the aftermath speaks volumes. Pavel leaves the bridge at the Captain's request, face flaming and head down.

***

"Aw hell, kid."

"Come on, Bones."

"Talking to twelve-year-olds is not in my job description," McCoy gripes.

"Pavel's eighteen," Jim says, a sly smile curling the edges of his mouth. "Legal everywhere on Earth and most planets in the Federation."

"Not funny, Jim," McCoy says pointedly. The bastard just laughs at him, low and dirty. McCoy would throw his glass at the little fuck but that would be a tragic waste of good alcohol.

"Like you haven't thought about it," Jim challenges and McCoy hates that knowing smile he wears so well.

"I," McCoy responds, gathering the tattered shreds of his dignity around him, "have morals, Jim."

"You," Jim mocks, "have a hard-on for my young, innocent, probably virginal navigator." McCoy pauses, glasses halfway to his mouth, a knowing gleam in his eye that immediately piques Kirk's interest.

"You got one of those things right," McCoy says dryly.

"No way." Jim straightens in his seat; if he were a dog his ears would be up. "Bones. No way in _hell._ "

"You think what you want, kid," he says, smirking. "I know the truth."

"Oh come on. You can't just say something like that and then not back it up! Details man, details!"

"Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Bullshit!" Jim hisses. "Gossip is not protected information!"

"I'm still not going to tell you," Bones says blithely. Jim pulls out the puppy dog eyes. Bones snorts and fixes Jim with the hairiest eyeball this side of Orion. Jim changes tactics.

"As Captain of this ship, I think it's a matter of ship safety that you divulge all information pertinent to the issue at hand with all due haste and detail."

"You've been hanging out with the hobgoblin lately?" Bones asks, smirking.

"BONES!"

"No, Jim." Bones sighs into his cups; grown men should not pout. Heroes of the Federation, captains of starships—youngest in history or not—should. not. pout. And McCoy really shouldn't be falling for it, crocodile-tear bastard. He sighs, long and heartfelt. Kirk's lips twist and he almost loses his pout to a smile because he knows he's won. _Bastard._

"I'll talk to him, Jim." The grin breaks free and he looks far too smug for it to be healthy. Bones starts figuring out what vaccines Kirk's due for.

***

Chekov looks like he's headed to his mother's funeral.

"Dammit, kid, I'm a doctor not an executioner. Sit down. Relax." Chekov does as he told, except for the relaxing part. McCoy swears and pours the boy a stiff drink, sliding it across the desk. Chekov stares at it for a moment, gaze darting between McCoy and the drink. "Well it ain't gonna drink itself." Chekov flushes and gulps down half the amber liquid in one sip. Doesn't choke or cough. Hell, his eyes don't even water and McCoy must be wearing an expression of shocked awe because Pavel's lips curl down defensively.

"Is not as good as vodka, but has nice little bite," Pavel says. He sips a little more gingerly this time.

"Little bite?" McCoy repeats, incredulous. Chekov shrugs and some of his nervousness returns in the ensuing silence. He plays with his cup, sloshing the liquid around. McCoy looks anywhere but at Chekov.

"Look, kid," McCoy growls, tired of this song and dance, "you can talk to the ship shrink or you can talk to me. Pick the shrink, it goes on your record. Pick me and I'll drink so much I won't remember my name in the morning." Pavel quails under the doctor's gaze, sinking back into his seat.

"Iz...iz personal. This thing."

"So are Andorian shingles and your captain has had 'em twice. I promise you, living with Jim Kirk for three years has pretty much inured me to...just about anything you could think of." Chekov stares at him with wide, guileless eyes and McCoy hates Kirk for putting thoughts into his head. "Really, I walked in on a threesome with those tentacled guys from Eleesia third year. Stop pussy-footing around or I'm sending you to Counselor Praya."

"I need to be tied up and no one on the ship vill do," Pavel says. McCoy blinks. The boy looks supremely unconcerned sitting in the office guest chair sipping some of the strongest Kentucky moonshine McCoy's ever come across and savoring its 'little bite.'

"You looked hard enough?" McCoy forces himself to ask, and he's real proud about the way his voice cracks a little at the end there.

"Zer are...many incompatibilities," Chekov says and helps himself to another drink.

"In...Jesus." McCoy scrubs his hand over his face. "Just so we're clear, you do mean 'need' and not 'want,' right?"

"It is...stress relief."

"Well," McCoy says, pouring himself another healthy dose of 'shine, "that's one thing to call it."

***

After his talk with McCoy, Pavel sees the man everywhere. He hangs out on the bridge more than any ship's doctor should and makes snarky comments to Spock and the Captain. He always manages to show up in the commissary when Pavel's there regardless of the hour, snapping at the cooks about the Captain's impossible allergies. They have the same taste in movies for movie night, though McCoy is always rolling his eyes or groaning at the bad medicine. He shows up in the gym when Hikaru is teaching the captain to fence and yells at them both for being reckless and stupid and generally giving him a heart attack and could they please be less enthusiastic about meeting their deaths at the end of a pointy bit of metal?

McCoy barks out orders to everyone _except_ Pavel and it's driving him crazy.

He finds an e-mail in his account about a week after The Talk, just a list of names. No sender address, no explanation. Pavel stares at the fourteen crew-members and tries not to want. He's played with six of the people on the list (one of them, Venga, is one of Pavel's closest friends), knows three others aren't remotely his type and another pair are exclusively involved. The list is also lacking a few names he knows of, people who walk the far side of extreme. Pavel doesn't think they've been left off as a coincidence, which means the doctor has thought about this and directed Pavel towards people he deems safe.

It really doesn't help Pavel stop wanting.

\---

The Wanting—Pavel has decided it merits a capital—makes him more irritable. He snaps at Uhura this time—in answer to the Captain's stunned question, Pavel _doesn't_ have a death wish, just a want-wish—and gets remanded to extra duties. Pavel lines up with the rest of his crewmates on notice today. It's pathetic how much he's looking forward to a simple order, even if he's about to be assigned to latrine duty or something equally unsavory. The Quartermaster starts working her way down the line handing out assignments.

"Chekov—" the Quartermaster stops and looks at him. Pavel flushes and awaits his fate. "Getting mouthy in your old age are you? Botany needs someone to help with the compost pile. Enjoy. Cilik. Slept through duty shift again? You're on stocking duty in medbay, enjoy. Danadar, this is the third time I've seen you! Do I even need to tell you to report to Sanitation?"

The Quartermaster works her way down the line.

"Fuckin' _medbay_ ," Cilik groans.

"You have been before?" Pavel asks cautiously, the glimmer of an idea rising in him.

"Are you kidding?" the ensign to their right—Danadar, the repeat offender—says. "Medbay is barely a step up from working on the waste disposal systems! McCoy is a slave driver. Right bastard, that one."

"I will trade," Pavel says without stopping to think.

"What?" Cilik gawks. Danadar looks at him suspiciously.

"I will trade. Botany for medbay. Is good deal, no?"

"It's...it's a great deal," Cilik stutters. "I just, why—never mind, you're on. Medbay, 1700 hours, knock yourself out."

"Doktor McCoy is not so bad," Chekov says, ducking his head to hide his blush.

"Yeah, if you're _Kirk,_ " Danadar mutters. "I call dibs on the next time."

\---

McCoy barely looks at him when he shows up for extra duty, just orders him to reorganize the supply closet. Based on supply statistics pulled from the intranet, the likelihood that the Enterprise will get into trouble in the near future, and staff preference for certain instruments, Pavel writes an algorithm that allows him to more efficiently organize the closet and installs a program that automatically updates the store logs. The nurses looks at him like he's found a way to bring the dead back to life. McCoy grunts at him and tells him to get some sleep. Pavel does as he's told and sleeps well that night, the restlessness that's been plaguing him quiet.

It turns into a pattern. When he starts feeling the stress and his focus drifts he arranges an extra duty—nothing that will go on his record, but something that gets him sent to the quartermaster. Eventually the quartermaster stops trying to give him other assignments; Pavel always trades out for Sickbay anyways.

His pattern holds for four months. It's not lasting, and it's not what he really wants, but it gets him through his days and his nights and it is what it is. He finds a playmate on one of his shore leaves but while the encounter gives him nearly two weeks of reprieve, it's missing something. It's missing McCoy because Pavel's brain has decided, completely on its own and without permission, that the only person who will do is the ship's surly doctor.

So Pavel does what he can and tells himself it's enough.

***

It starts out innocently. They're granted shore leave on a small planet with a thriving marketplace. Pavel samples a beverage that starts out sweet and kicks like a mule as you swallow. The stall vendor grins at him, rows upon rows of sharp teeth, as Pavel gasps through the after burn.

"Yes?" the alien says knowingly.

"Dah," Pavel gasps, trying to wrap his tongue back around Standard. "Dah! Is good!"

When he stops by Sickbay it's pretty deserted so he leaves the bottle on the doctor's desk.

On Lescalle he finds a bracelet he thinks the little girl in the picture frame might like. On Osiris it's an old Trillian medical text from the planet's equivalent of the Dark Ages. Then an effigy of the Klakkan tentacle god. In short time he's got an entire collection of trinkets that make him think of his Doctor.

Most of them live in a box underneath his bed because Pavel's not stupid and neither is the Doctor. He leaves the best gifts infrequently enough that no one ever ties him to them.

\---

"What'd you get this time?" Jim asks. McCoy grunts and turns the box over. It looks completely smooth, not a seam to be seen. It's made of a wood that feels like polished rock, slick and hard but with a rich grain running through it. He can hear something rattling inside.

"A puzzle box!" Jim crows and snatches it out of Bones' hand. McCoy lunges for it but Jim dances back. He does something and with a click the box falls into two pieces.

"You broke it!" McCoy accuses, snatching the box away.

"I did not. It's supposed to be that way. You're supposed to figure out what's inside." Jim pokes the two parts, leaning deep into Bones' personal space. "I wonder what your secret admirer left you."

"I do not have a secret admirer." Jim snorts. "I don't."

"Right. And I didn't write a program that cross-references the shore leave schedule with everyone who was on duty in Sickbay when your little gifts showed up." Jim smugly slaps a PADD down on the table. "But then I guess you don't need this since you don't think—"

"Touch that PADD and I'll update all your vaccines tomorrow morning. All of them." McCoy scoops up both parts of the box and the PADD. He tucks his dignity around him and leaves Jim behind, laughing like an idiot.

Once safely in his room, McCoy takes a shower. He sends his clothes off to be laundered and changes into his sleeping pants. He reviews all his patient notes for tomorrow and sends off a few instructions to his nurses. And finally, he turns his attention to Jim's infernal, smug little PADD. He's not one to anthropomorphize, but Jim's smugness is coming off that thing in waves. He turns it on and starts scrolling through the pages. The bastard even color coordinated the entries. It only takes eight entries for McCoy to figure out there's only one name they all have in common, but he scrolls through them all just to make sure.

"Son of a bitch."

***

Chekov waves at Nurse Aeyon as he searches for Nurse Chapel. They all take his presence in stride these days; Aeyon and Chapel have been helping him get his First Responder Certification. When he's through, he'll be able to assist the medical personnel in times of emergency or high volume of patients. He hums to himself when Doctor McCoy steps out of his office, right into Chekov's path.

"Doktor, I was just—"

"Get in here," McCoy barks and yanks the kid into his office by the collar.

Chekov stumbles over his feet to comply, his body flushing with warmth. McCoy spins him into a chair and towers over him, scowling. Chekov shrinks, every instinct he has telling him to look down, offer this man supplication.

"I'm gonna ask you once and you had better tell me the truth." Chekov swallows and nods, acutely aware of how close they are. He keeps his eyes trained up at McCoy's face, even though the temptation to look straight forward is great. "You using me to get yourself under control? Because if you really are this incompetent—"

"Yes." McCoy stops abruptly, staring at Chekov with an unreadable expression. "It helps. I have found no other, and it...helps."

"It helps," McCoy parrots. Chekov nods and waits. He feels oddly calm in this moment. McCoy scrubs a hand over his face and paces the length of his office. The silence stretches between them.

"The gifts too?" Chekov's face reddens. "Jesus, kid."

"I am not a kid," Chekov challenges, heat in his voice. McCoy stops and stares at him in surprise. Chekov rises to his feet and meets McCoy's gaze without flinching. "I was there at Wulcan. Admiral Pike asked me, personally, to train the Transporter Specialists for whole of fleet. I am nineteen years. I am _not_ a kid."

The ki—Chekov has a point. Hell, he's probably way more mature than Jim will ever be.

"No," McCoy says, sounding strangled, "I guess you're not." With his inner Jim cheering him on, McCoy sends Chekov stumbling into the wall and kisses him. It's not gentle, and it's not fumbling—it's hot and dirty and demanding and about as far from a first kiss as you can get, but Chekov melts underneath him. Kisses back, lets McCoy set the pace, responds _beautifully_.

A chime sounds, reminding McCoy that he's got a job to do and patients to see. He pulls away, reluctantly, and Chekov looks ravished. He blinks stupidly, eyes glazed and lips shiny.

"I get off at 1900 tomorrow. Be in my quarters at 1930." Chekov's eyes widen and he nods eagerly, a wide smile pulling at his lips. "And for God's sake do something with your hair. You look like you just got back from prom."

Chekov grins and smooths down his hair. He's got an honest-to-god pep in his step when he leaves the office. McCoy lets his head thump on the desk and wonders what, exactly, he's just gotten himself into.

***

McCoy gets back to his room at 2130 hours, exhausted and footsore. His back hurts like a sunnofabitch and he's got a tension headache forming. And he really wasn't expecting Chekov to still be waiting. Nor the smile Chekov gives him, wide and unfettered and not angry.

"I have dinner," he says, and pulls the covers off of two dishes. The smell of food makes McCoy's mouth water and he falls on the meal like he's starving. Chekov looks pleased as punch, which amuses McCoy.

He draws out the end of the meal, not entirely sure where to take the conversation looming on the horizon. He's barely taken the last bite when Chekov clears the table, bustling round McCoy's quarters like he belongs there. McCoy sits back and watches Chekov work, clearing plates into the 'cycler and stacking the dishes and silverware for removal.

McCoy has to smile when it becomes clear the kid's stalling for time, wiping down the table with long, careful strokes.

"Kid, this ain't my first rodeo." Chekov looks perplexed and McCoy sighs. "My divorce wasn't your regular kind of mess." Chekov's mouth rounds into a perfect 'O' of surprise and damn if it doesn't give McCoy _ideas._ He shifts in his seat, but it's not time for that. They have a few things to hammer out first. "You want this? Really want this?"

"It is not just a matter of want," Chekov says earnestly. "It is need."

"Well, if we're going to do this, you don't _need_ with anyone else, you got it? You can date whomever but you only play with me and with my consent." Chekov smiles that brilliant smile again and McCoy realizes he's well and truly fucked himself.

"Dah. Though..." Chekov cocks his head and looks as sly as he can manage. McCoy arches a brow. "I have found that groups can be very fun." It takes a second to decipher what the kid means and when he gets it McCoy almost has a heart attack because _holy fuck._

"We—we can talk about that later," McCoy manages. He's beyond exhausted, but his body makes a valiant effort to rise to the occasion as his mind recalls a few of the very vivid and detailed fantasies he's had months to accumulate. He clears his head and gets back on point. "For now, you are going to stop getting yourself assigned extra duty. That shit looks bad on your jacket and the backtalk stops now, y'hear?" Chekov straightens in reaction to his tone of voice. "You get in trouble with the brass again and you won't just be facing professional consequences."

"Yes, sir," Chekov says. He's practically bouncing in place in spite of the dressing down he's getting and McCoy rolls his eyes.

"You will continue doing extra shifts here and working towards your First Responder Certification, only it's going to be official. All above board." Chekov stops and processes that, a smile slowly stretching over his face.

"I would like that," he admits bashfully and McCoy snorts because _no shit._ McCoy gets up and stretches, back popping. He notices the kid watching him, eyes a little glazed and trained about belly-level.

"Kid, I—" Chekov—no no, kid's got a first name and if they're going to do this he should be Pavel—doesn't let him finish, just gets in his face and steals a kiss. McCoy melts into it because the kid's lips are soft and inviting and he's making these quiet little noises that McCoy can only hear because they're pressed so close together. His teachers in med school always told him he had smart hands, and McCoy believes him because they've moved of their own accord and are cupping the kid's—Pavel's ass. It is a nice ass, a little on the skinny side but firm and muscular.

Pavel's hard against him and McCoy's once again making a valiant attempt, but not even a wet dream come true's gonna help him shake off seven hours of emergency surgery.

"Kid, I'm exhausted. Tomorrow—"

"Sit back," Pavel orders, pushing at McCoy’s shoulders. For a man who likes to be submissive Pavel sure is comfortable handing out orders, but McCoy sits down anyways, interested in where this might go. His breath hitches when Pavel kneels on the floor. Kid makes a pretty fucking picture with his wet, red lips and unkempt hair, uniform shirt rumpled from where it bunched under McCoy's hands.

Pavel unlaces McCoy's boots with more reverence than they've ever been treated to before. He tucks the white regulation socks in them and runs his thumb over the arch of McCoy's feet.

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus." McCoy melts into the couch. He may have magic hands but Pavel has magic fingers. Made of all things good in the universe. McCoy slips down and lets his head lean back. This is heaven, Pavel moving from his feet up his calves. He's bleary-eyed and half-asleep when hands prod him, guide him up and to the bed. Those same deft hands strip off his pants and his shirt and tuck the sheets around him and McCoy laughs because this is so far from what he'd planned. They've shared one (really awesome) kiss and the kid's tucking _him_ into bed.

Pavel turns to leave and McCoy catches his wrist, his fingers brushing over the delicate bones there. So skinny.

"Tomorrow. Same time. Be here." Pavel smiles, and even half-asleep McCoy is blinded by it.

"Dah," he says softly, and brushes a kiss over McCoy's lips.

***

An unlucky lieutenant walks in cradling his wrist five minutes before McCoy's supposed to leave for the day. He stops dead in his tracks when he catches site of McCoy's scowling face, taking a step back towards the door in self-preservation. Chapel swoops in and rescues the poor man from certain death.

He double-checks that he's free with M'Benga and Aeyon and finally— _finally_ —makes his way to his quarters. The kid'll be here in two hours. He's not nervous at all.

He's really tempted to pour himself a drink, but that would be irresponsible. McCoy snorts and rakes his hand through his hair. 'S been a long time since he's had someone to be responsible for. Longer still since someone's wanted him to be responsible.

He sighs and tilts his head back against the couch. What the blue hell does he think he's doing? His brain supplies him with a whole host of reasons this is a Bad Idea, starting with Pavel's age and going right on through to McCoy's complete inability to have casual sex. Which is an exaggeration; he's set this up to be something more than casual but less than exclusive. But it doesn't change the fact that his libido is kicking his conscience's ass and has obviously been spending too much time with Jim because he's been half-hard since he left Sickbay.

He glances at the chrono; an hour and a half before the kid's supposed to be here. He grabs a medical journal off the table and tries to distract himself.

\---

Pavel swears under his breath and glares at the door to the bathroom. The one Hikaru is _taking forever_ in. Commander Spock had ordered a last-minute diagnostic scan of one of the lesser-used redundant navigation systems, which had put Pavel almost eighteen minutes behind schedule.

"Hey, how'd that scan go?" Hikaru asks with a smirk. Spock has a tendency to ignore shift changes and order long, complicated, and tedious tasks at the end of shift right before they're supposed to leave.

"Nitchevo," Pavel answers distractedly, slipping into the bathroom, his mind already several corridors away.

"Hot date?" Hikaru calls, but gets no answer. He's only ever seen his friend this focused when he's working on a math problem you couldn't pay Hikaru hard cash to even look at. Pavel sweeps out of the bathroom and into the hall without once looking at Hikaru. Very strange. Worth monitoring.

\---

Pavel arrives at the appointed time and is surprised when the door opens for him upon approach. McCoy is on the couch reading but his attention immediately shifts as soon as Pavel enters.

"You have added me to the biometrics?" Pavel asks, stepping in. He feels the need to fall to his knees and rest his head on his dominant's knees, but they haven't set those rules. Not yet.

"You're welcome here whenever you want," McCoy tells him, still seated. He doesn't offer Pavel a seat or indicate he should do anything so Pavel remains standing just inside the door. "You may instigate whenever you want, though it's ultimately my call as to what we do and how we do it."

"Of course," Pavel agrees readily, moved by the unexpected freedom. While convenient for their shipboard situation, it's also an arrangement that places responsibility for starting most of their play in Pavel's hands. In which case, he must be extra attentive to his top's needs. "What shall I call you?"

"Any term of respect is acceptable." Pavel hesitates momentarily before asking his next question, unsure of its reception.

"Is Master acceptable?" His doctor's eyes go dark and heated.

"No," McCoy says, but his voice is strained. "That. That would not be appropriate with our current arrangement." Pavel nods his acceptance; he had expected no less. That right and the intimacy such a title implies...for a man like Leonard McCoy, it would require a collar and a commitment.

“But you may call me Leonard. In private.”

"Leonard," Pavel tries. The name is strangely satisfying and he smiles.

"Did you bring a list?" Pavel starts out of his musings and hands the requested PADD to his top. McCoy starts scrolling through it, leaving Pavel without instruction; he's curious to see how his new boy will react. He covertly watches the way Pavel's eyes flicker from him to a space just beside him, fidgeting where he stands. It looks like he wants to say something but is holding back. He's forgotten that while new relationships are exhilarating they're also kind of awkward.

"Pavel?" The kid starts and looks at him, eyes huge, and McCoy realizes it's the first time he's used the kid's name aloud. "Is there something you...need?" McCoy winces at how gruff he sounds, but Pavel smiles shyly and kneels at his feet, head curved down, back straight. McCoy gets a head rush he gets hard so quickly. He reaches out and wraps one of Pavel's curls around his finger. Pavel makes a happy sound and settles his head on McCoy's knees, arms wrapped loosely around his legs. It's a strangely intimate gesture and McCoy's glad the kid isn't looking at him just now.

McCoy uses his blunt fingernails to scratch Pavel's scalp. He laughs at how the kid arches into it, practically fuckin' purrs at his touch. It's intoxicating, how responsive the kid is, how responsive he makes McCoy. He settles in to read a list of Pavel's kinks, desires, and various experiences. Some of it's pretty standard stuff—bondage, light spanking, non-permanent marking. (Kid's not a pain slut, thankfully; McCoy can't bring himself to inflict a lot of pain on someone.) Some of it McCoy's never even heard of, but gets a pretty good idea of what goes into it based on Pavel's very arousing descriptions. And most of it meshes perfectly with McCoy's own kinks.

He starts making little notes in the margins, equipment he wants, things he needs to research, what he needs to come back to when Pavel's not rubbing against him like a cat in heat. He's rubbing with intent, making his way up McCoy's lap and towards his groin. McCoy keeps up his steady, even petting, letting the kid move in his own time. He doesn't mind easing into this at first, but there'll be a point soon where he'll have to teach the kid he can't get away with it.

He gasps when Pavel's nose finally brushes against his erection. Christ, he hasn't been this hard or this turned on since his teenage years. Then again, he hasn't spent so long on the buildup in...longer than he cares to remember.

Pavel rubs his cheek more firmly against McCoy's crotch. McCoy catches a flash of a pleased smile and tangles his fingers in Pavel's hair.

"You got somethin' to smile about?" he growls, pulling Pavel's head up. Kid's still grinning, his eyes alight.

"I do. Do you not as well?" That look right there, that's pure invitation and want, and McCoy's never been good at denying himself what's freely offered.

"Get up," McCoy growls. Pavel's eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet. McCoy sets the PADD aside and remains seated, letting himself look, stretching his feet out in front of him. Pavel bears the scrutiny in silence, his anticipatory gaze fixed on McCoy.

"Here's the deal, kid." Pavel frowns when McCoy calls him kid, face settling into teenage petulance. McCoy arches an eyebrow and waits out his challenge. It's not long before Pavel drops his eyes to the ground. The silence between them makes Pavel shift uncomfortably, acutely aware of what he's done. McCoy leaves him hanging; this is as much a punishment for someone like Pavel as anything physical.

"As I was saying," he continues, smirking at Pavel's grimace, "I'll make you a deal: whatever you take off, I'll match." Pavel's head jerks up and his gaze quickly maps McCoy's body before settling on his face.

"Well?" McCoy says, amused. "You waitin' for an engraved invitation?" Pavel grins and strips of his shirts—uniform top and the skin-tight black undershirt. He looks to McCoy expectantly; kid's practically salivating.

McCoy makes a production of taking off his shirts separately. He peels his blue medical top off first and drops it beside the couch. Pavel makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat, eyes glued to McCoy's chest. 'Cause he's a bastard, McCoy stretches, arching back against the couch so his undershirt rides up to his belly button.

"Pazhalusta," Pavel whispers, and even though McCoy doesn't speak Russian he knows a plea when he hears it. He grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it up over his head. Pavel licks his lips at the sight and McCoy shakes his head. Kid's easier to read than an open book. Blushes pretty too.

Pavel seems to remember their deal because he shakes himself and then quickly toes off his boots. McCoy follows suit but gets distracted when Pavel shimmies out of his pants. Jesus, kid's made of nothing but hard, lean muscle. There's not an ounce of body fat to be seen. And he's already hard, cock curving up towards his belly button—which is just a scoop of a thing, like someone pressed their thumb into his stomach as an afterthought.

He pushes to his feet and stalks towards Pavel.

"What is this?" McCoy traces the dark contour of a tattoo, several years old, the inked skin slightly raised to the touch, on the outside of Pavel's hip. It's a series of dark lines crossing over one another, stark against pale skin.

"Is a _[rodimich](http://www.ringingcedar.com/imag/necklace003.jpg)_ ," Pavel says softly, his words slightly breathy. The skin under McCoy's fingers start to goose bump. "For wisdom and family." McCoy hums and kneels to get a closer look. He hears Pavel say something in Russian, under his breath. It's a well done piece of art, probably a few years old. He never would have pegged Pavel for the tattoo type, but he finds he likes it. He likes knowing that not many people will see this or know of it. It's something just between them.

He sits back on his heels and looks up. Pavel watches him with heat in his eyes.  
"Don't come," McCoy says, and that's the only warning he gives. Pavel moans and his hands flutter in the air as McCoy sets about sucking his boy into oblivion. It's been years since he last did this, but he's motivated. Besides, Pavel deserves a reward for yesterday and McCoy firmly believes in positive reinforcement in these situations.

It takes all of Pavel's self-control not to give in to the sensation and let himself go. He's not supposed to come—he has to hold on, has to... _о святое дерьмо_. It's too good, too much. He tries reciting the Star Fleet officer's code in his head, translating it into Russian on the fly, complete with section numbering and sub-section indicators. Anything to try and distract himself.

It works until McCoy does something particularly evil with his tongue and slips a finger into Pavel's ass. There's a moment of complete stillness when McCoy realizes Pavel's stretched and slicked himself. Then he moans around Pavel's cock and sucks as hard as he can, his finger expertly pressing against Pavel's prostate. It's too much too quickly, especially after so long without.

McCoy can feel Pavel's control slipping, his body giving him away. He can also make out a steady stream of under-the-breath mutterings in Russian. Given what they're doing, he's comfortable with the language—and it's kind of hot—but he won't be able to understand if something's wrong if Pavel's slips into his native language every time things get heated. McCoy could also learn Russian. That idea has merit.

He pulls off and wraps his fingers around the base of Pavel's cock, helping him retain control, and brings his hand down sharply on the side of the kid's ass.

"In English," he orders sharply. Pavel's eyes flutter open, startled. "I won't be able tell if you're in trouble." Pavel nods his understanding. McCoy stands up, his knees creaking in protest. He grabs Pavel's hair and tilts his head back. Kid's got a beautiful neck, long and inviting. Pale and asking for bruises.

"I'll fuck you," McCoy offers, and Pavel moans. McCoy drags his tongue up his boy's neck. "But only if you earn it."

"Anything," Pavel promises breathlessly, instantly.

"Anything?" He reaches around and cups Pavel's ass. "And if I want to turn your ass red as a cherry before I fuck it?" They're pressed close together and McCoy can feel Pavel react to his threat.

"Yes," Pavel moans, straining against the hand holding his hair. _"Please."_ McCoy chuckles and pulls Pavel down into a chair with him. It takes some maneuvering to get Pavel situated comfortably over his legs, ass up, but they manage. McCoy runs his hand over skin he plans to become intimately acquainted with. He picks out a few scars, faded and barely noticeable. He maps out exactly how he plans to proceed.

The first strike is almost a whisper in the quiet room, soft and barely there. Pavel sighs and relaxes, making a low humming sound in the back of his throat. McCoy scrapes his nails lightly over the place he just hit and Pavel makes the noise again.

McCoy grins and brings his hand down hard on the curve of Pavel's ass. The sound it makes is utterly satisfying and sends a shiver through McCoy, and an answering one through Pavel. Moments later his hand print blooms dark on Pavel's ass. McCoy runs the pad of his finger over the outline, enjoying the heat and the way Pavel's muscles jerk involuntarily when his nail catches on the sensitive skin.

He lays an identical mark on Pavel's other cheek and then starts working on the rest of his pale skin, turning it light pink and warm. The two hand prints are still a darker red than the skin around it, and Pavel will carry the feeling of them, if not their visible imprint, for days after this. By the time he's finished, Pavel is moaning with every blow, his cock a hard, hot line against McCoy's thigh.

"Fuck, kid," McCoy mutters, totally taken by what he's done. What Pavel's allowed him to do. He's suddenly inundated with ideas, desires, things he hasn't thought about in too long. He realizes Pavel's right; this is a need and he's been ignoring it for far too long. Pavel whimpers desperately and McCoy starts out of his thoughts.

Pavel's ass is a warm glow, pinked and practically begging to be fucked.

"Up," he orders, and Pavel shifts in his lap, following the direction of McCoy's hands. He guides Pavel to the bed and arranges him on the spread, a pillow tucked underneath his hips. He guides Pavel's hands to the headboard. "Keep them there." Pavel nods, his eyes tracking McCoy's every move with unwavering intensity.

He lays the brand new lube and a condom out like a ritual. He sees a brief look of surprise flash over Pavel's face at the condom, but they'll talk about that later. He slicks his fingers and slips one of them into Pavel.

Pavel closes his eyes and pushes himself firmly, the muscle giving easily.

"You've been stretching yourself," McCoy says stupidly and Pavel rocks his hips. It's fucking hot watching Pavel work himself open, fucking himself on McCoy's fingers.

"Dah, yes," Pavel gasps, twisting his hips in a figure eight. McCoy adds two more fingers and Pavel takes that easily too, moaning encouragingly at the added stimulation. Pavel finds the angle that drags McCoy's fingers over his prostate and gives a shout of pleasure at it, his muscles clamping down. McCoy wants to feel that around his cock. Right now.

With a growl he hooks his arms beneath Pavel's knees and drapes his long runner's legs over his shoulders. The position leaves Pavel completely exposed to him and leaves him without any leverage. Without looking away from Pavel's eyes, which are wide with anticipation, he rolls on the condom and slicks himself. When he's ready, he presses forward, and Pavel's knees almost touch his chest.

He pushes in without warning and Pavel swears in Russian, sharp words McCoy makes a note to look up so he can whisper them in Pavel's ear. Once he's actually inside Pavel, the need he's been keeping at bay rises and leaves McCoy breathless. It's all he can do to keep himself in check, to wrap his hand around Pavel's cock and rub his thumb against the head even as he drives his hips forward at an unforgiving pace. He wants to experience Pavel's orgasm buried inside him, the muscles of Pavel's ass contracting around him.

"I want you to come," he says in Pavel's ear. "Come for me, Pavel." He jacks Pavel quickly, fist tight around him and Pavel makes a high, keening sound.

"I'm...I'm..." Pavel tries to use his grip on the headboard to lever himself up, but that’s not in the rules tonight. McCoy quickly grabs his hips and pulls him further onto his lap, stretching Pavel's arms out as he maintains his grip on the headboard.

"I know what you need," McCoy pants, promises, threatens. "You're _mine._ " McCoy licks his palm and wraps it around Pavel's cock with one hand; with his other he delivers a stinging slap to Pavel's ass.

Pavel comes, the tendons in his neck standing out and McCoy doesn't even remember moving, but Pavel shouts when his teeth clamp down hard enough to bruise. Pavel shudders and falls apart and McCoy follows him. It hurts in the best ways, his body straining in its pleasure. He hasn't come this hard in years and he wants nothing more than to give in completely into the boneless lassitude that follows.

"Christ, kid," McCoy sighs into Pavel's neck. He licks the mark he left, pleased to see he didn't break the skin. Pavel laughs softly. McCoy groans because he has to move even though he really, really doesn't want to. But Pavel's legs are still over his shoulders and that can't be comfortable.

McCoy presses a kiss to the inside of Pavel's knee and then guides his legs to the bed, rubbing the muscles a little to encourage blood flow. He's pleased and impressed to see Pavel's still gripping the headboard, knuckles almost white. McCoy gently pries his fingers away from the headboard and massages his hands, acutely aware of Pavel's sleepy gaze. It stays with him as McCoy moves around the room, stashing the lube and preparing the room for the night.

He shakes out Pavel's uniform and lays it carefully over the couch so it won't wrinkle, and repeats the process with his own. Finally, he grabs a couple of wipes and a glass of water and returns to the bed to clean Pavel up. He makes sure there's no damage or bleeding, makes Pavel drink half the cup and checks his pulse. Pavel just grins through the whole process and nips at his fingers.

"Careful," he warns. "Might consider that a threat." There's a glint in Pavel's eyes that promises they'll both be testing that in the near future. It feels like hours before McCoy allows himself to climb into bed beside Pavel, who instantly turns into him. McCoy tucks the kid into a comfortable position and starts to drift.

"Spasibo," Pavel murmurs, and kisses McCoy's chest. His entire world shrinks to the press of Pavel's lips on his skin for those few seconds and it's not until Pavel settles, breath evening out in sleep, that McCoy can breathe again.

"Next leave, I'm going shopping," he says in the silence.


	2. Lachiesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lachesis measured the length of one's life.

Pavel throws McCoy off kilter. It takes time for him to balance having actual things to do during his free time other than paperwork and...the paperwork. He's pretty sure Aeyon and Chapel know because they always ask for paperwork updates with smirks. And they're always dragging Pavel into dark corners and whispering. McCoy has half a mind to give them permission for a sleep over in the Bay.

But three weeks in McCoy thinks he's got a pretty good handle on this (crazy, exhilarating, insane, fantastic) thing he's cultivating with Pavel. He glances at the clock because as soon as his shift ends leave starts and he has plans.

"Bones! I got us a suite at the Elstra Pleasure Gardens. This will be a shore leave you may not remember, but you'll never forget!" McCoy rolls his eyes. Yeah, he can just imagine what Jim has planned for this leave. He double-checks his notes and logs out of the terminal. Two days off, planet side. Fresh air.

"One of these days, Jim, you're going to catch a VD I don't have a cure for," he warns, heading towards his quarters at a fast clip. Jim trails after him like an excitable puppy.

"Then I'd better make the catching worthwhile," Jim says with a leer.

"You can do your catching without me. I already have plans." He ignores the way Jim perks up. Like a fucking pointer on a scent.

"Plans? Plaaaaaannnnssss?" Jim sidles up to him, far too close for any sane person who understands a need for personal space.

"Plans. That do not include you."

"Bones."

"No."

 _"Bones."_ McCoy ignores him and adjusts his collar. Pavel drew third leave; as senior staff McCoy chose first. Which works 'cause he has shopping to do, and a few days to finish setting up his room would be nice.

"You haven't heard a word I've said." Jim pouts at him. Full-on _pouts_ as if McCoy is his recalcitrant prom date.

"Nope," McCoy agrees merrily. He shoves his wallet in his pocket and double-checks that his watch is programmed to current planet time.

"What are you doing that's better than a resort called the _Pleasure Gardens?_ " Jim asks suspiciously.

"Self surgery would be better than whatever cockamamie bullshit you've cooked up." Jim adds Disney Eyes™ to his pout. "Answer's still no, Jim."

"Bones. It's only a day. How much trouble could we get into?"

\---

It takes six hours for Jim to get them thrown into the Elstra version of a drunk tank. Spock bails McCoy out. By mutual agreement they leave Jim there to stew. The place isn't even a real jail, it's a series of nice (if Spartan) rooms with comfy beds to let people sleep off their pleasure overloads.

With Jim safely tucked away McCoy can actually do what he originally intended. The planet they're on has two suns and no real night so the shops never close; they operate in three overlapping shifts. He finishes his...shopping during the Enterprise's primary sleep shift, so there's only the one ensign in the transporter room to greet him. McCoy lugs his bags behind him and down the corridors. At least he's got tomorrow off too, even if he's required to stay on ship.

The lights rise to 50% when he enters. There's a person-size lump in his bed.

"Pavel?" Kid startles awake and nearly falls out of the bed getting to his feet. He's got pillow-creases on his face and one side of his hair sticks up like a cresting wave. And he's naked, as required whenever he's in McCoy's quarters unless otherwise ordered. McCoy can't suppress his smile.

"Hikaru is dating engineering ensign who does not have leave until second group and you were not expected back until—"

"Kid, it's okay," McCoy interrupts, setting his bags against the desk. "When I said you could come here whenever you wanted, I meant it." Not to mention McCoy really likes finding the kid in his bed. Pavel smiles muzzily and runs a hand through his unruly hair. He looks rumpled and soft.

McCoy reaches out and hauls him into a kiss. Pavel makes a happy little sound and melts into him, eyes sliding closed. This thing they've got is still new enough that kissing is still an exploration. He loses himself in Pavel; it's been a long time since he's been able to indulge in another person, and Pavel is only too happy to let him. But McCoy didn't spend his leave shopping for nothing.

"Get on the bed," McCoy orders, and Pavel instantly obeys, kneeling at the center. His cock's already hard enough that it's purpling at the tip. McCoy rolls his eyes at the evidence Pavel's youthful exuberance. Pavel grins at him and shimmies, making his cock bounce and McCoy laughs. "Well, I've got something for _that._ "

He roots around in the bags and finds the three packages he wants. Pavel's practically bouncing in place by the time he turns back.

"You're worse than a kid on Christmas Day," McCoy says dryly. Pavel grins, irrepressible as ever.

"No, is much better!"

"We'll see about that." The first 'gift' wraps around Pavel's cock. It's a series of leather-like strips that wrap around him from root to just under the tip, and around the base of Pavel's balls. There's a wider strip that goes around his waist, keeping his cock and balls pulled up. Pavel's panting by the time McCoy secures the final strap; they're tight enough to help Pavel stave off orgasm, but they won't prevent him from coming when McCoy commands it.

"Nice?" he asks, running a finger down the length of Pavel's cock.

"Dah," Pavel says, sounding blissed out. "Is very nice." McCoy runs his thumb over the contour of Pavel's cheek and kisses him softly before moving on to the next toy.

The sound of excited anticipation Pavel makes when McCoy pulls out a set of dark blue wrist and ankle restraints should be illegal. It never fails to completely derail McCoy's thoughts. Pavel reaches out to touch them but jerks back when he becomes aware of the movement.

"Sir, may I..."

"They're yours, kid," McCoy says gruffly. "You better get to know 'em." Pavel reverently takes the cuffs and explores them. They're for light play with lace-up ties and a single silver O-ring. Pavel tests the flexibility of the material, the same as currently wrapped around his cock. It's durable stuff but soft enough not to cut into the skin too much. McCoy's the one making the sound of excitement when Pavel starts putting them on.

"I love them," Pavel says shyly, holding his hand out and admiring the way it looks with the wide cuffs. McCoy catches one hand and kisses the seam, half skin, and half alien leather. He makes a few adjustments to the wrist cuffs, tightening them and making sure they aren't rubbing against any bones.

"Alright kid, on your knees against the headboard." Pavel turns gracefully and crawls up the bed. He places both hands on the headboard and then turns his head to look impishly at McCoy. McCoy moves instantly, forcing Pavel's head to the wall. "Did I say you could look?" he growls dangerously. It's hot to watch Pavel's entire body language change.

"No, sir. I apologize."

"I'll think about whether or not I accept," McCoy says, laying a hard smack to Pavel's ass. He makes quick work of securing Pavel's wrists to a couple of the rings he'd installed around his room and against the headboard. He leaves Pavel's ankles free. "How's this feel?" McCoy pulls Pavel's day plug out a ways and then presses it back in. A slight tremor runs through his boy's body. There's enough lube on it to tell him Pavel slicked up right before bed.

"It is...is often distracting," Pavel manages as McCoy fucks him with the toy.

"Good," McCoy says, and pushing it back in. There'll be time to take it out later. For now, he has one final gift for Pavel.

The thin strop sits easily in his hand. It's the same blue as Pavel's restraints and made out of the same material, though this has been treated to be less forgiving. He balances it on the small of Pavel's back, watching the muscles flinch at the unexpected touch. Pavel sucks in a breath and McCoy can practically see him making the connections in his head.

"You get to enjoy this one," McCoy says, running a hand from Pavel's shoulders to his flank. He grabs the strop and trails the length of it up and down Pavel's spine. It feels nice to have actual tools in his hands, things he and Pavel have talked about. "No restrictions. Just feel. But don't come until I tell you. Understood?"

"Yessir," Pavel says in a rush, eager and nervous all at once.

The strop makes a beautiful, sharp sound as it hits Pavel's skin. Pavel jerks and squeaks. The strap leaves a beautiful red stripe on Pavel's ass. McCoy can't help but run his fingers over the mark, feeling the heat. Pavel shifts back into his hand with a whimper.

"More?” McCoy teases, pressing his fingers down into the mark.

"Please," Pavel moans, trying to present himself as fully as his bonds allow. Well, when his boy asks so nicely...

McCoy starts out light, turning Pavel's skin a luminous pink from mid-thigh to the curve of his ass. Warming the skin, testing Pavel's reactions and boundaries. There's no doubt that Pavel loves this. By the time he's done Pavel is shaking and gasping out half-formed pleas.

McCoy molds himself to Pavel's back, sliding his erection between the boy's legs and forcing his thighs together. He rubs against Pavel's balls with short, quick thrusts. He reaches around and wraps his hand around Pavel's cock and gets him off with long, languid strokes. Pavel whimpers and throws his head back, turns his face towards McCoy's in unspoken entreaty.

"Come," he manages, almost lost to his own pleasure. Pavel makes a series of high, keening sounds and comes all over McCoy's hand and his headboard. McCoy follows soon after, biting down on Pavel's shoulder as he comes.

In the aftermath, Pavel is lax and pliant. McCoy has a brief moment of panic when it takes a while for Pavel to respond to him before he realizes the kid's farther down in his own headspace than McCoy has ever seen. They'll have to talk about what did that, because he hadn't expected it and they introduced a lot of new elements to their play today. McCoy frees Pavel's arms and tries to get off the bed but Pavel whimpers and clings to him, snuggling further into him for warmth, and making it clear that he doesn't want McCoy going anywhere.

McCoy congratulates himself as he blindly finds the packet of wet wipes he'd stolen from Sickbay. One-handed he cleans himself, the headboard, and Pavel. He tosses the used wipes onto the nightstand; he'll deal with the rest in the morning. Satisfied, McCoy tucks Pavel underneath his chin and holds him until his boy is quiet and relaxed. After a while Pavel stirs, raising his head to blink blearily at McCoy.

"Sleep," McCoy orders softly, guiding Pavel's head back down.

"But I—"

"Pavel," he interrupts firmly, arms tightening in warning. Pavel sighs but lets it go and McCoy chuckles. He nuzzles Pavel's hair and falls asleep thinking about which of his new toys he'll use tomorrow morning.

\---

Pavel wakes up feeling utterly fantastic and completely at peace with the world. It's the feeling that generally pervades him after particularly intense scenes, and a quick review of the night reveals that he slipped pretty far.

"'s too early," Leonard mumbles, pulling Pavel out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," Pavel whispers, shifting so that he's once again curved to fit in his Dom's arms. He knows he's grinning goofily as Leonard drifts back to sleep but he can't help it. Last night...

"Jesus, kid, stop _thinking,_ " Leonard groans.

"Sorry, sorry," Pavel says, genuinely contrite. It seems his Dom might go back to sleep but then Leonard opens one eye and squints suspiciously at him.

"You aren't one of those obnoxious mornin' people, are ya?" Pavel notes with a grin that Leonard's accent gets thicker when he's tired or just waking up.

"No. But this morning I am particularly energized." Leonard opens his other eye and regards Pavel steadily.

"You were pretty far gone last night." There's a hint of accusation in his words. "Wasn't expecting that." Pavel flushes and his gaze drops to Leonard's chest, tracing the growth patterns of the hair there.

"It has been a long time," Pavel admits shyly. "I was not expecting it either."

"So that's not normal?" Leonard asks, stretching. Pavel's eyes dart about, drinking in the motion, not knowing where to settle, not wanting to miss out on anything.

"Is..." Pavel hesitates, unsure how to phrase what he wants to say.

"Mmm, bad question," Leonard says, waving his hand. "Was there any one thing that made you drop like a stone last night?"

"No," Pavel says immediately. "It was...perfect storm of sensations. Many new toys with you, and such a long time being in a scene like that."

"Good," Leonard says. "How much control do you have over your headspace?" Pavel frowns; no one has really asked him that question before.

"I...am not sure."

"Okay. We can figure that out then." Pavel feels himself blush and buries his face against Leonard's side; that his doktor thinks of him in a long term sense, of getting to know Pavel enough to test his boundaries...Pavel's imagination presents him with increasingly soppy and ridiculous scenarios, things he really shouldn't indulge himself in but can't help himself. Theirs is only a play relationship; they are both free to pursue other partners outside of a fetish setting. McCoy had been very clear on that point.

They lapse into silence, legs tangled together and McCoy's hand running up and down Pavel's spine.

"You have shore leave today," McCoy murmurs. He's almost ready to go back to sleep, willpower the only thing that's keeping him awake.

"I do not have to go," Pavel says earnestly. There are so many bags of delicious new things to go through.

"Yeah, you do," McCoy contradicts, stretching on the bed. "Need to get off this ship, breathe some non-recycled air. Get some sun. Not too much, you're likely to turn into a lobster under two suns." Pavel laughs at him and McCoy realizes he's rambling. He huffs grumpily and reaches out to swat at the kid; he realizes belatedly that he's just encouraging the cheek.

"See the blue bag? Get the small yellow box out of it." McCoy lets himself watch as Pavel moves around his room, confident and naked. Pavel finds the box and then sprints to the bed, cannon-balling onto the mattress.

"Hikaru would say you are sugar daddy," Pavel informs him, placing the yellow box on the center of McCoy's chest, "because of all these gifts."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure if he saw these _gifts_ the first thing he'd think was sugar daddy." Pavel stretches out beside him with a grin.

"I will call you Daddy if you ask." McCoy growls and rolls onto Pavel, grabs his hands and pins them above his head. Pavel grins and arches his hips up so he can rub against McCoy.

"Cheeky," McCoy rumbles, dragging his stubble over Pavel's neck. Pavel has a _thing_ about his neck and he doesn't disappoint, his whole body shivering at the touch. It's been a delight cataloguing all Pavel's different reactions to stimulation of his neck.

They kiss stretched out on the bed, McCoy pinning Pavel to the mattress and indulging himself until the chrono beeps at them. Reluctantly they separate, Pavel pouting at him in hopes of continuing. Unfortunately for him, McCoy is made of sterner stuff than that.

"Let's get you ready to face the day, kid." He pulls Pavel up and then flips him over his knee. The rules state that Pavel gets a good morning spanking whenever he sleeps in McCoy's bed and to be honest, it might be their favorite part of the day. He’s mindful of the bruises left behind by the strop; when he's done Pavel's fully hard and his hand is just as hot as Pavel's ass.

"I hear you like sounds," McCoy says casually, shaking out his hand. Pavel twists and sits up eagerly, wincing slightly as his ass rubs against the sheets. McCoy retrieves the box from the head of the bed and opens it. Nestled in the yellow box is a slim metal penis plug. Whatever metal it's made out of has a pale yellow tint to it. It's hollow in the center and there's a ring on top that secures the plug in place.

"Is beautiful," Pavel says reverently. "And sounds are very stimulating."

"Good. 'Cause you'll be wearing this one until I decide to take it out." Pavel stretches out on the bed and props his head up on a pillow so he can watch. McCoy likes the way Pavel watches the process so intently. McCoy puts on rubber gloves and sterilizes the sound. Pavel sucks in a breath when the high-quality medical lube hits the tip of his cock, cold and thick.

"Now this," McCoy says, placing the sound at the head of Pavel's penis, "is for extended wear. Hollow in the center; you can do anything with it." Pavel yelps as the plug slides in. It's the best kind of pain, his body stretching to accommodate the intrusion. The sensation races along his nerve endings, along his spine, and it makes the little shivers of pleasure he gets from McCoy's touch that much sharper. He's half hard when the sound settles in as far as it goes; with the top ring secure around Pavel's cock it looks like he's been pierced.

"Take it out if it starts to hurt in the bad way or there's an emergency," McCoy instructs, testing the toy. The sound stays put. "And no underwear for you today." Pavel groans in anticipation.

\---

Pavel enjoys his shore leave. Many people try to pick him up; he flirts with them all but he's never serious. He's mentally counting down the hours until he can get back to the ship.

***

"I have an idea," Pavel says one day while McCoy is still trying to make sense of the world after a mind-bending orgasm. All he manages in response is a grunt. Pavel is one of those people who get wired after they come instead of wanting to take a nap like _normal people._

He finds himself pulled rather abruptly out of his post-coital lassitude as Pavel's request percolates.

"You what?" McCoy boggles.

"You are doctor, yes? It would be simple. Safe."

"You—I don't..." McCoy gives up. Just slumps to the bed and stares up at the ceiling. Pavel's head pops into his field of vision.

"Is just idea," he says earnestly, eyes worried. "I did not mean—"

"Shut up, kid," McCoy grouses and pulls Pavel's arms from under him. He hits with a muffled oomph, then proceeds to arrange himself half-sprawled over McCoy's chest. "Go to sleep. I'll think about it."

\---

He does his research under the guise of brushing up on his brain surgery techniques. It really wouldn't do for someone to do a review of Enterprise's computer use and find "drugs that leave people conscious and aware but unable to move or act on their own behalf" in his recent searches.

He scrubs a hand over his face.

He's actually going to do this. Medicate his...his Pavel into a paralytic state and use him. "Like a thing," had been the specific request. "Something you own, for your pleasure only."

\---

"You're sure about this," he asks again. "'Cause there's no way for me to know if you're in trouble. You'll be paralyzed for an hour."

"I trust you," Pavel says simply. But they've been together long enough for McCoy to know his tells and the kid's so excited for this he's practically gagging on it. He gives Pavel the hypo before he can think twice.

Pavel's breathing slows and his muscles go slack. McCoy picks up an arm. It's loose and malleable, no tension in it, beyond even Pavel submitting to his manipulations.

"I'm closing your eyes so they don't dry out," McCoy says softly and brushes his fingers over Pavel's eyes. He imagines a slight hitch in Pavel's breathing and surreptitiously consults the Tricorder he'd stashed by the bed. Everything normal. He sets it to beep should anything change and then turns to his boy.

McCoy studies Pavel's body, laid out for him. He has an hour to do as he pleases.

Fuck. Yes.

He starts by rolling Pavel's nipples between his fingers, then lightly drags his nails down to Pavel's waist. He fondles Pavel's cock and balls; given the drug, it's unlikely he'll get hard but Pavel will still be able to feel it. McCoy explores every inch of Pavel's body, worrying the skin between his teeth, then soothing the sting away with his tongue. He sucks a bruise in the center of Pavel's chest, taking his time. He makes it dark and deep; untreated, it'll take weeks to fade. When he's done, he strokes over the bruise, then presses down on it. He can't wait to do that when Pavel is able to talk and react, to flinch at the minor discomfort.

McCoy shifts back up Pavel's body.

"Rolling you over. Going to use you, my favorite toy," he says into Pavel's ear. He licks delicately along the shell and turns Pavel over. He makes sure Pavel can breathe and his airways won't be restricted before sliding his mouth down along Pavel's spine. He spreads Pavel's legs.

There's only moderate resistance when he pushes in, Pavel's body relaxed and open to him, already slick. He moves languidly, unconcerned with anyone else; he's using a toy that exists to enhance his pleasure and for no other reason.

McCoy manipulates his toy into the best position, sinking deep into slick warmth. He pushes his toy wider, spreads it open and rocks his hips. Short, shallow strokes at first, just enjoying the sensation, working himself up. He likes to tease himself, sinking in and rotating his hips and then doing it again.

It takes time, this slow torture, but the warmth he can feel building is worth it. It curls through him, dizzying and intense, and McCoy surrenders himself to the feeling--the indulgence of it. He sucks in a breath and it ends in a whining gasp as the sensation builds. He hitches the toy up, changes the angle slightly, and quickens his pace until he’s grunting with every thrust, sweat sliding down his back.

He comes, panting, against the warm skin of his toy. It’s a long, shuddering orgasm, almost too long and sharp. It leaves his limbs feeling heavy and his eyes sliding closed, but he can’t give into that. He’s got responsibilities here. He groans and presses his forehead into Pavel’s back. Ugh.

He glances at the clock; about fifteen minutes to go before the drugs wear off. McCoy eases himself out with care, even though Pavel is still totally relaxed and open. He wipes himself and Pavel down, then rolls his boy over.

He looks so innocent.

McCoy checks his Tricorder, which registers no physical distress on Pavel’s part, and settles into wait.

Pavel's fingers twitch, then his toes. His eyes slide partially open and his breathing starts to go a little ragged, no longer merely an involuntary response. McCoy pets Pavel continuously, never letting up, encouraging his muscles to bend and move. Pavel sucks in a breath and tries to talk, his words getting caught and coming out as stuttering noises.

"Don't try to talk," McCoy soothes, running his fingers through Pavel's hair. "It'll wear off in its own time. You're fine. You're perfect." Pavel manages a small smile and lets his eyes closed; he seems to have fallen asleep, but a few minutes later McCoy hears a quiet, slightly garbled "thank you."

***

Pavel slides into a submissive pose with the click of his fingers. McCoy circles him, correcting posture and spreading Pavel's legs a little wider. He brushes his fingertips along Pavel's shoulders and over his clavicle.

He's already hard, his penis straining upwards against his pants.

McCoy makes one more pass and then sits on the couch. Pavel glances up at him for permission and, receiving it, leans forward and rests his head on McCoy's knees. McCoy starts a gentle head massage, smoothing his fingers through Pavel's hair. These moments ground them both, allow each of them to let go of the day and find the right mindset for their games.

"Stand," McCoy orders softly; he likes the tone they've set here, quiet anticipation. Pavel rises, limbs unfolding from his crouch with graceful ease. He stands before McCoy unguarded and eager, kinetic potential.

Kid wears his uniform well. McCoy reaches out and slides his fingers between the edge of Pavel's shirt and pants. He likes the way Pavel's breath hitches and the skin beneath his fingertips jumps, then becomes rough with goosebumps. He gathers the material of Pavel's top and pulls it off as he stands. Pavel raises his arms then lets them drop to his side.

McCoy takes a step back and looks. Pale skin; slender runner's body mostly free of scars; light-blond body hair that disappears into the waistband of dark uniform pants. McCoy circles him, taking in every inch. He can't resist walking his fingers across Pavel's shoulders, over the curve on one shoulder and then onto Pavel's chest. Slender, but there's a lot of strength in the kid's muscles.

He presses his thumb into a fading bruise on Pavel's collarbone. Every mark on his boy's body was put there by him. A surge of satisfied lust races through him at the thought: no other person has so intimately marked him.

He presses himself against Pavel's back and bends his head to the gentle slope of the kid's shoulder. Pavel sighs and leans back, his neck arching in supplication, body relaxing until McCoy is supporting them both. McCoy runs his lips the length of Pavel's long neck, lightly at first, and then pressing firm kisses all the way up to Pavel's ear. His hands skim down Pavel's body and find the side zipper on the kid's uniform pants.

The sound of the zipper sliding down is loud. It's slow and tantalizing and they're both tense until it won't go any farther. Pavel whimpers and presses insistently into McCoy's erection and his hands move on their own, no brainpower required. McCoy pushes Pavel's pants and boxer-briefs down underneath his ass. McCoy's hand settles on Pavel's hip, thumb rubbing over the jut of his boy's hipbone, fingers tracing over the raised lines of the tattoo.

He's got secret fantasies of inking something just as permanent into Pavel's skin; something on the other hip to balance him out, dark lines of McCoy's own design.

His hands naturally find their way to Pavel's cock, curved up against his belly. The metal of the sound is body-warm. McCoy trails the pads of his fingers from the tip down, until he reaches soft skin. He loves the feel of hard metal turning into forgiving flesh. Pavel squirms, just a little, at the sensation.

"I think we'll keep it in tonight." Pavel's hands clench in anticipation. "I want to test your head space," McCoy says, keeping his voice low and smooth. He feels a brief ripple of tension in Pavel but it's gone in the space of a breath. "I'm going to bring you up and send you down again."

They’ve been together long enough for McCoy to know what sends Pavel plunging into subspace, how to get him there and hold him down. Bringing him back up, shaping it to McCoy’s own desire--that’s where the artistry comes in.

He blindfolds Pavel and lays the boy out on his bed, naked and hard. He spends time just touching, letting his hands roam, barely-there. When the mood strikes him he’ll twist Pavel’s skin between his fingers, the bright flair of pain so different it makes Pavel gasp every time.

He feels Pavel teetering on the edge, almost ready to fall, and stops. He slides the blindfold down and waits. There’s a few seconds delay before Pavel’s eyes slide open.

“You feel this? Where you are now?” McCoy asks, voice soft but firm. Pavel licks his lips and nods his head. “Speak.”

“Dah. Yes.”

“I want you to stay here,” McCoy orders. “Don’t go any further down than this. Maintain. You may do what you need to stay cogent.”

“I understand, sir,” Pavel says, and while his voice is a bit firmer it hasn’t lost its softness.

McCoy attaches Pavel’s hands loosely to the headboard and continues his assault, sharp nips and quick pinches. Fairly tame, but McCoy’s not the kind of Dom who’s interested in setting up impossible tasks, and tonight is not for pushing boundaries. Pavel’s incredibly ticklish under his arms, a fact McCoy exploits tonight. It’s an easy, effective way to help pull Pavel up from his subspace and a good indicator of when he’s too far down.

Pavel maintains awareness pretty well, answering McCoy’s pop questions almost all of the time. So well, in fact, that it’s time for something new.

“Pavel.” He’s pleased to see the kid’s eyes open and focus on him almost immediately. McCoy holds up the shiny new toy in his hand. He grins at the way Pavel’s eyes get huge and silently beg for it. “Let yourself go,” McCoy instructs and Pavel thanks him in Russian.

They’re not particularly vicious nipple clamps, but they’re tight enough to pinch and they’ll burn deliciously when removed. He loops a thin rope around the chain between the two clamps and tugs it taut. Pavel hisses and jerks, which pulls the clamps again. When Pavel settles, a slight tremor passing through him, McCoy ties the rope around the head of Pavel’s penis. McCoy grins and drags a nail up the length of Pavel’s cock, which twitches and pulls against the clamps.

McCoy uses Pavel’s ticklishness as a way to send him spiraling deeper into himself. Every time Pavel tries to jerk away the rope pulls taut and he gasps sharply. McCoy trades tickling and sensual touches, cupping Pavel’s balls, running the tip of his finger around his hole, flicking the clamps because he can. It’s beautiful the way Pavel squirms under McCoy’s touch. He gets so riled up that all McCoy has to do is hint at where he’ll touch next and Pavel reacts.

McCoy teases Pavel to the brink of orgasm and then makes him stay there, right on the edge. Pavel’s pleas are breathy and half-formed, often interrupted by gasps and small moans.

“Pavel, do you want to come?” McCoy asks softly, pulling lightly against the rope. It takes a few repetitions before Pavel responds, gasping out a yes. “Then you have to bring yourself up.” McCoy waits patiently while Pavel comes up out of his headspace. He cups Pavel’s face and runs his thumbs over Pavel’s cheekbones, grounding him in touch.

“Please,” Pavel says, turning his head into McCoy’s hand, eyes clear and present.

“What was that?” McCoy asks lowly, nuzzling against Pavel’s neck and then dragging his lips down his boy’s chest. He noses against the clamps, making Pavel swear, no headspace to dull the pain.

“Пожалуйста. Пожалуйста, трогайте меня, позвольте мне--”

“Остановить русскую речь,” McCoy orders and Pavel gapes, eyes wide and adoring. McCoy smirks; Uhura wasn’t so bad once she got done being insufferably smug and threatening him with being spaced out an airlock if he hurt Pavel. A damned good teacher, too.

“Yes, sir,” Pavel breathes reverently.

“Good boy,” McCoy soothes, petting Pavel’s chest.

“Good enough?” Pavel asks with a small smile, rocking his hips a little in invitation. McCoy laughs and his touch turns form approving to seductive. He scrapes a nail right where the clamps meet Pavel’s skin.

“We’ll see.” He finds the lube and slicks himself. He’s careful not to touch the rope still bound to the clamps as he slides in to Pavel’s body. Pavel swears for the first few thrusts, which make his body shake with their force. The rope pulls on Pavel’s clamps and the top of Pavel’s penis. There’s just too much pain for it to be pleasurable, and it helps Pavel stave off his orgasm.

McCoy pushes him to the limit of his tolerance. The clamps hurt in a dull, throbbing way and the pain just grows the longer they’re on and the more they’re agitated. Pavel wants nothing more than to slip down into escape where everything is muted and soft, but he keeps himself from slipping because he was told to. Because he wants to please his...his dominant. His doktor.

“Still with me?” McCoy asks, bending over and brushing his lips over Pavel’s.

“Yesss,” Pavel hisses as McCoy changes angles and it starts a fresh wave of tugging.

“Good.” Pavel bites back a moan; he wants to come so bad. He wants to pout and swear when McCoy finishes, his hips stuttering quickly and coming with a protracted moan. Pavel tries to hold absolutely still when McCoy pulls out, but it’s hard. His body is alight with sensation.

McCoy pushes himself up and smiles down at Pavel.

“How do you feel?” Pavel glares and McCoy laughs. The grin he gives Pavel does not engender good will. He flicks the clamps and Pavel does swear that time, trying to get away but bound in place. “You can come when I take them off.” Pavel whimpers and tenses in preparation. He’s so close, but this is going to hurt so bad and it’ll be a miracle if he--

Pavel screams and jerks, every muscle going tense as the clamps are released and blood rushes to the surface. Fuck, it hurts, but there’s a sharp pleasure underneath it, intense and inescapable. He yells again when McCoy bends over and deep throats him while the pads of his fingers rub circles into Pavel’s nipples.

“мастер.” The word escapes Pavel in a sob, mangled and instinctual and encompassing everything he’s feeling right now. The truth of it is a revelation. “мастер, мастер, мастер!”

“Ssshh.” McCoy wipes away tears Pavel hadn’t known he’d shed. “Breathe.”

His chest heaves and he’s shaking, but he’s never felt safer or more aware of the world. He matches his breathing to his master’s. He accepts the pain and the pleasure as his due and waits, trembling, for what comes next. His master’s smile, as if he senses the shift, is beautiful. Pavel tilts his head to accept his mater’s kiss, a benevolent benediction.

“Come for me,” his Master orders, softly. Cajoling. Pavel moans and lets the feelings swirling around him rise. His nipples ache, as does his cock. He can feel the stretch of his master in the muscles of his ass, the bite of the cuffs against his wrists. “Come for me, Pavel. Let it go.” His master flicks a nipple and Pavel comes, straining and forgetting how to breathe.

It’s the first time he ever blacks out from an orgasm.

\---

McCoy smooths Pavel’s hair away from his face. Even though the Tricorder assures him Pavel’s stats are good he checks them manually. He doesn’t think about what Pavel said, a word Noyota hadn’t taught him but he understands nonetheless. It scares him how much he _wants_ it, but you can’t hold people to what’s said in the heat of the moment. Especially how hard he pushed Pavel today. He lingers over the pulse point fluttering in Pavel’s neck, so vulnerable.

He is so young and McCoy is so fucked.

***

Jim eyes his best friend over the very, very full glass of bourbon. He runs through his mental checklist--none of the nurses had called him, no patients had been lost, no incoming transmission from Earth. There’s obviously booze left.

In short, Jim has no clue what brought on this desperate need for liquid solace. But Bones downs his drink like it’s his last with a quiet desperation Jim hasn’t seen since they left Earth and he’d had to say goodbye to Jo.

“So...there a reason we’re drinking tonight?” he asks lightly. Bones looks at him with bloodshot, haunted eyes.

“I’m going to Hell, Jim,” he says. “Straight to hell.”

“O...kay.” Even when Jim’s pouring him into bed completely blitzed all Bones talks about is how he’s destined for the hot place. It’s disturbing mostly because Bones doesn’t actually believe in any kind of Hell.

Jim decides Bones need a mental health break.

***

McCoy swears as the computer beeps at him. Authorization Denied. He carefully types in his pass code--just like he's done the last seven times. The machine thinks for a second then beeps again.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

"There you are!" Chapel appears out of nowhere, all smiles and fresh-looking like they don't have an outbreak of ship-wide Andorian flu going on and over half of the crew has been through the Bay in the last three days.

"This computer won't--"

"Oh, I had M'Benga lock you out twenty minutes ago."

"You _what?"_

"You've been on duty for...thirty-three hours now. The vaccine will be synthesized in the next three days, no one's actually going to die of Andorian flu, and you have the next two days off. Captain Kirk already authorized us to stick you in the brig if you come in."

"Captain Kirk," McCoy snarls, "was the first person _not to die_ of Andorian flu. I might have to change that!"

"Your codes will be reinstated in three days."

"I'm back on duty in two!"

"I'm increasing your leave by one day every ten minutes you stay here," Chapel says with a beatific smile. McCoy stares at her. He hadn't realized she was evil when he hired her. "Six more minutes and it'll be four." McCoy spins on his heel and stalks out of the room without another word. He needs to fire his entire staff.

\---

He sleeps the first day. And most of the second. But after he drags himself over to the food processor and gets some food in him he starts to fidget. He tries to read some reports but his console is locked out to anything work-related. Even the various half-written papers he works on in his free time. And, like Chapel, every time he tries to access something work-like the system shuts down more and more 'work' (for an increasingly absurd and tangential definition of work) programs and files until the only thing that will open are Tetris and the erotica section of the library. He digs out a pad of actual paper and starts making a list of all the vaccines he'll be testing on Jim in the coming days, but even that doesn't keep him busy for too long.

He hasn't seen Pavel in almost six days.

Pavel always comes to him. McCoy wants it that way; it's the easiest way to make sure Pavel's getting what he wants, when he wants. No demands or expectations from an overbearing top, free to pursue his other interests. No pressure for a superior officer who may unknowingly force a subordinate into an uncomfortable situation. It's sometimes hard; there are days when McCoy would like nothing more than to send an order and know the kid will be waiting as instructed. But those wants are easily ignored for what they already have--the feel of Pavel's skin against his, his surrender and how he keeps coming back again and again.

But he usually doesn't go more than a day or two. Not that McCoy's been overly available the last three days, but usually when that happens Pavel leaves some indication that he's been around. (This has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s been keeping things fairly light since That Night.)

He actually ventures into the gym on day three, remembers why he prefers drinking, and sits in the cafeteria to read just so he's not being an antisocial curmudgeon in his room, but rather where everyone can see. He leaves at exactly seventeen hundred hours and thanks the good lord he can go back to work tomorrow. (They really did turn off his access codes ship-wide; he'd even gone to the ancillary medical centers and tried them. Somewhere, Chapel is laughing at him.)

He's just finished his first celebratory end-of-forced-leave drink when his door chimes. He almost ignores it, but he's bored enough to see who, other than Kirk, is brave enough to brave him.

"Pavel?" The kid is dressed in sweats and a SFA hoodie, his mop of curly hair looking particularly unruly. McCoy can't for the life of him figure out what Pavel's doing ringing the doorbell.

"I..." The kid's voice comes out deeper than normal, like stones dragging over concrete. He glances up at McCoy, through his hair, and looks more unsure than McCoy's ever seen him. Considering the long list of really kinky fantasies the kid's admitted to, that's saying something. "Hikaru has anniwersary tonight and I didn't. I don't..." The kid's eyes are bright. Too bright. McCoy reaches out and puts his hand against Pavel's forehead. Hot to the touch, no sweat, glassy eyes, slightly labored breathing. And now that he has a good look at Pavel's face, circles forming under the eyes and flushed skin.

"Christ, kid." He hauls Pavel into the room and pushes him down into the chair. "How long have you been sick? Have your symptoms progressed? You look like you're slightly dehydrated, when's the last time you ate or drank anything substantial? Are you keeping it down?" He wraps Pavel in a blanket and pulls out one of the flu kits he'd prepared, the kind they'll be passing out as soon as they mass-produce enough of the vaccine for more than essential personnel. He gives Pavel a hydration/nutrition supplement, an immune booster and the vaccine, which should have Pavel healthy and functioning by tomorrow evening.

He realizes belatedly that Pavel hasn't said a word. He's just bundled in McCoy's favorite blanket, in McCoy's favorite chair, watching with wide, unfathomable eyes. McCoy shifts uncomfortably.

"I gave you a standard treatment for Andorian flu. You've got a mild case, so with the vaccine you should be fine by tomorrow night."

"Thank you," Pavel says softly. He's still looking at McCoy strangely, a small half-smile quirking his lips.

"Yeah, well, can't have you throwing up on my carpet," McCoy says gruffly. Pavel huffs in amusement and pulls the blanket tighter around him. His eyes are hooded and he looks like he might falls asleep from one breath to the next.

"Come on, kid, up and at 'em."

"Oh. Dah, of course, I can go to Cilik and--"

"Pavel, you're not going anywhere but to bed," McCoy orders, ignoring the irrational anger that swells at someone else's name on Pavel's lips. He doesn't want to know, has been careful to make sure he doesn't know who Pavel's been spending his time with outside of this room. He knows he's toeing a line, using his implicit authority (both as a senior medical officer and Pavel's Dom) to keep Pavel here. He can't find it in himself to care overmuch. "That vaccine is going to knock you on your ass so let's go, chop chop." He guides Pavel to the bed, doesn't bother to take off the blanket before tucking him in. Pavel murmurs something in Russian when McCoy trails his fingertips lightly over flushed cheeks. Shit.

McCoy sighs and puts in a call to Chapel.

"Doctor McCoy! You're still alive. And you haven't gnawed through any limbs!" Chapel sounds far too jovial to have spent all day with vomiting crew people. McCoy grits his teeth.

"You're fired on Wednesday," he tells her.

"Wednesday? Tomorrow's Tuesday." McCoy sighs. There's nothing to do but bite the bullet.

"I'm taking tomorrow off." He has the wherewithal to take a screen cap of Chapel's dumbfounded expression before he cuts the feed without another word. He hasn't taken a non-mandated day off since they started the expedition. He glances at the bundle on his bed and sighs. He is so very doomed.


	3. Atropos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atropos was the cutter; she decided when life ended.

They're headed back to Earth. It's the excited buzz on everyone's lips: headed back to Earth with stops at three of the busiest trade hubs to drop off several of the crewpeople who have requested leave on planets far away from the core. Five months of Earth-side leave as the Enterprise gets retrofitted and checked over. McCoy's excited and nervous to see Joanna again. He's seen pictures, vidcalled home, but he knows he's not going to be prepared for how big she's grown. Jocelyn, in an uncharacteristically generous move, had agreed to Joanna living with him for the first three months as long as she got weekends.

And in the back of his mind, there's a niggling question as to what Pavel's plans are. He could ask and he'd get an answer--most likely more of an answer than he could possibly want, complete with how many moles Pavel's favorite aunt has on her face--but there's a dark, twisted part of him that doesn't want to know.

McCoy ignores the excited chatter in the mess hall and sits in a corner table. It's uncanny how, when he lifted his eyes to glance around the room, they immediately found Pavel. Sitting amidst a group of happy, smiling children loosed on the universe with a can-do attitude and sense of invulnerability.

One of them laughs and throws an arm over the back of Pavel's chair, fingers detouring through Pavel's hair and leaving it more of a tangled mess than usual. McCoy looks away when Pavel blushes but doesn't move from the touch.

Five months. At the very least, he can give Pavel a very memorable send off.

\---

Pavel nervously tugs down his shirt, a simple heather-gray long sleeve tee and a pair of soft, worn jeans. McCoy watches him hungrily, looking devastating in a black shirt, the last three buttons undone, and grey slacks.

"Ready to go?" he asks, leaning back against the couch indolently. Pavel blushes and nods. As ready as he'll ever be.

McCoy propels him out of the room with a proprietary hand on Pavel's lower back. Pavel blushes again when the hand isn't removed once they're out of the room.

They make their way up to the penthouse suite. It's a huge room that's more like a one-story house. There are three bedrooms connecting through a large living room; there's a kitchen and dining nook off to one side. The living room has been cleared of furniture save for a large round poker table with deep red felt. There are four people already seated around it, two men and two women. They all greet McCoy warmly, old friends who haven't seen each other in an age. They ignore Pavel.

McCoy fits right in with them but Pavel feels incredibly young. These people are clearly successful at whatever they've chosen to do, self-possessed and comfortable. Even though they don't acknowledge him, Pavel can feel them looking. It's almost a relief when McCoy orders him to bring him a drink.

Pavel ignores the brief flair of embarrassment he feels when he's told to sit at McCoy's feet, but the feeling is quickly driven away by the fingers that run through his hair. He sighs and presses his face against McCoy's leg and lets his mind drift, rising only to refill McCoy's drink or fetch refreshments from the kitchen.

They play with a convivial air, not too cutthroat. Pavel isn't sure how they divided the pot at the beginning but it's clear that his doktor has been losing pretty steadily all evening. He thinks there's some method to how they're seated--two women flanking McCoy and the two men opposite--because there are undercurrents to the idle conversation and even the flow of the game, but Pavel pushes that all away. That's not the point of tonight. Pavel starts letting his mind drift.

One hand lasts bet after bet until McCoy is forced to push all in, only to lose.

"Well folks, that's all she wrote. Looks like I'm out."

"So soon, Leonard? You used to be better at this," one of the women says. She's sharp, Pavel thinks. Put together and very precise in her actions and words. The kind of person who looks professional in any context.

"Never as good as you, Kate."

"Mmm, well, few are," she says evenly. McCoy lifts his glass in toast. "But I don't think you're quite out, are you?"

"Come again?" Pavel feels his heart rate speed up.

"I think what Kate means," one of the men, the one with dark hair peppered with gray, says, "is that you have something else you can use as collateral." His voice is deep with a slight burr and he's the oldest person at the table. There's a certain measure of respect the other players afford him and, though he hasn't made any indication, Pavel knows that every eye is on him. McCoy's hand drops to his head instinctually.

"This is your chance to win back some of the vast amounts of money you've lost tonight," the other man adds, younger than the rest. At first he looks too serious to fit in this crowd but when he catches Pavel's quick glance he winks.

"Alright," McCoy says after a long moment, his fingers tensing briefly in Pavel's hair. "Let's play. And Erik?" The young man cocks his head inquisitively. "If you cheat, I'll know it, and trust me when I say doctors know all the places that hurt the most."

"Duly noted!" Erik agrees cheerfully, then schools his expression into a mock pout. "We all know Kate's too honorable, but I think Layla and Sam deserve to at least be put on notice."

"Consider me notified," Layla says dryly. She's relaxed and easy going with a wide smile and three different colors in her hair that do not occur in nature. Pavel likes her for that alone.

"I don't need to cheat, Erik. I have the second largest pot," Sam points out. Pavel likes the smoothness of his voice. McCoy shuts them up by dealing the hand.

Pavel watches them play with rapt attention. When he's thrown into the pot as 'lap candy' he blushes brightly. Someone laughs at him and he turns his face into his dom's side. He feels a chuckle go through his dom's body and smiles.

Erik wins the pot and an air of expectancy falls over the table. McCoy tilts Pavel's head up and makes eye contact. Pavel gives him a small smile; he's nervous, but not about what they're doing. No second guesses, this is just new and one of his oldest fantasies come to life.

"Go," McCoy orders softly. Pavel stands, his knees protesting a bit from kneeling so long, and he approaches Erik, eyes downcast.

"Oh, he is precious," Erik says, leering lasciviously at Pavel. Pavel goes willingly when the man pull him down. "Oh yes. This will do nicely." Erik arranges Pavel on his lap. He nuzzles against Pavel's neck, his broad hands splayed possessively over Pavel's chest. Pavel can feel the man's erection through their clothes, pressing into his ass. Erik's lips brush against his neck every time he leans forward to play.

The next hand comes down to McCoy and the austere Kate.

"Raise," she says coolly.

"He'll kiss you. For an entire hand," McCoy offers.

"That had better be some good technique," she says skeptically.

"Lady, you have no idea."

"Call," she says after a moment. She flips her cards to reveal two pair. McCoy tosses his cards to the table in disgust.

"Well, pet, it was lovely," Erik says, helping Pavel to his feet. He gallantly kisses the back of Pavel's hand. "Until next time." Pavel makes his way around the table to Kate.

"Deal me out," she says, and pushes her chair back. She pulls him between her legs and pushes him do to kneel in front of her. She leans forward and her lips brush the shell of Pavel's ear. "Don't prove him wrong."

He doesn't. By the end of the hand they're both panting and aroused. Kate's half pulled him into her lap and she no longer looks completely put together.

"Pavel!" He responds to that tone of voice, breaking away and searching for his Master. A familiar hand settles heavy and comforting on the back of his neck. Pavel blinks up blearily. "She that good?" Pavel blushes and shifts; he's incredibly aroused and honestly, she was that good.

"Don't doubt me, Leonard. I would hate to have to one-up you," Kate says. She sounds like she's regained control but her cheeks are still flushed.

"Come on, I won this hand. Let's give them a show." Pavel gratefully sinks onto his dominant's lap, and sits back to watch the game.

"Are you playing, Len?" Erik asks. McCoy nuzzles against Pavel, who turns into him with a smile. They exchange a kiss and someone makes a gagging noise. McCoy flips them off. "That's a no, then." McCoy turns Pavel back around.

"Watch the game." Pavel does so, the four players going through the motions of poker with familiarity. He starts when a hand sneaks up his shirt and pushes the material up under his armpits. The play pauses, the four players now enamored by a much different game.

"God, they all want you," McCoy murmurs, rolling a nipple between his fingers. He's not surprised that Kate is the first to regain her composure, and McCoy can tell by the set of her mouth that she's playing to win. The hand's over quickly and she deals McCoy in on the next without asking.

The bidding is fierce and, sensing blood in the water, the other three players bow out and it's between McCoy and Kate, who's just shoved half her holdings into the pot.

"I want his mouth," she tells McCoy, who doesn't bother to argue. Needless to say she wins the hand.

Pavel slides under the table and crawls to her. She spreads her legs and Pavel slips under her skirt. She's not wearing any underwear and she's already wet. It's been a long time since Pavel performed cunnilingus on a woman and he finds he misses it. Not in a major way, kind of like a long-forgotten hobby one casually goes back to for a weekend. She hooks one leg over Pavel's shoulders and pulls him in.

It throws Pavel for a moment that he doesn't automatically know how and where to touch; he and his Master have learned each other well and Pavel's to the point where he no longer has to think about where to touch. But Kate is very responsive and vocal. She guides Pavel's movements with light touches and murmured instructions, obviously accustomed to partners who listen and obey.

Pavel does everything she asks and throws in all the tricks he's learned serving various Mistresses. His first Domme had taken his request to learn this art to heart.

All in all, it doesn't take long for him to make Kate come, her thighs clamping around his ears, heel of one foot digging into his back. She's loud and vocal in her appreciation, which Pavel isn't used to either. She swears in three different languages before she lapses into languid, boneless relaxation.

Pavel stands when her legs slide off his shoulders. There's silence all around him and when he turns he's the center of attention. They all want him, and that's a heady feeling, but he still looks to his Master for reassurance. His Master's eyes are dark with want, his skin flush with arousal.

"Sam won," McCoy says, his voice deep. He smiles, just a slight curve of his lips, but it's enough to reassure Pavel that all's well. Pavel moves to stand by Sam's chair, waiting for instruction. Sam moves his chair back and motions Pavel to stand in front of him; he's already hard. Sam swipes his thumb over Pavel's lips, breath ragged.

"How do you feel about frottage?" Sam asks. He moves to take off Pavel's shirt and, pausing to get permission from McCoy first. Pavel shivers even though the room feels a little warm. Instead of pulling Pavel onto his lap as expected, Sam stands up. He presses Pavel back onto the table, spreads him out of the dark felt.

Sam kisses down Pavel's neck and to his chest. He nudges Pavel's knees apart and presses their hips together and moves. Pavel gasps and does what he can to create friction. Sam pinches a nipple between his teeth and Pavel jerks, sending Sam's neatly stacked row of chips into chaos.

Sam plays his body with shocking dexterity. He knows where to touch, how to touch. He exploits every weakness he finds with ruthless precision until Pavel is so worked up it physically hurts. He's vaguely aware of play continuing around him, poker chips landing near his head, but Sam brings all his attention back with a well-timed twist of his hips.

Pavel has never been tortured in quite this way before. He's not allowed to come but Sam is doing his absolute damnedest to make Pavel forget that. Pavel jerks, one arm flying out to grip at the table's edge, and poker chips go flying. Someone strokes up his arm and Pavel keens at the stimulation.

He arches up from the table when Sam's hand slides into his pants but hands force him down, bind him to the table as surely as any strap and it makes Pavel gasp with need. He's so close, he just needs the hand to keep moving, just a little more stimulation, something sharp and biting to send him over the edge. He whimpers when everything stops abruptly, body straining towards nothing.

"Pavel." He focuses on familiar blue eyes. The hands return, holding him down lightly, gentle but there.

"Did you lose again?" he asks once he's caught his breath. People laugh but Pavel only has enough brain power to focus on his Master. McCoy smiles down at him and kisses him upside down and it's odd but wonderful. Made more so by their audience and the fact that he's still stretched out on the table, shirtless, his pants open and halfway down his ass.

"Layla took me for everything," McCoy confirms. He trails his fingers over the planes of Pavel's chest.

"Everything?"

"Mmhmm."

"Okay." McCoy pulls back a little to assess Pavel's state of mind. He's lucid and flushed with arousal. He meets McCoy's gaze evenly, no regret or uncertainty, open and honest and available.

"Okay." McCoy pulls Pavel up so he's laying fully on the table and Pavel feels a thrill at the strength inherent in the move. McCoy kisses him again and foreign hands strip the rest of his clothes from his body. It's wonderful not to be constricted. His Master keeps kissing him and swallows his gasp when a body settles over his hips, slides down on his cock.

Layla sets a pace that suits her and no one else. Pavel curls his fingers into McCoy's and enjoys being taken for a ride. He fights back the swell of need that rises in him, trying to hang on to lucidity. He wants to remember this, as much as he can.

Pavel swears in Russian when Layla clenches, her internal muscles constricting around him. McCoy leaves off kissing him so that Pavel can look. Erik and Layla are kissing as she rides him; she's leaning against him, his hands on her hips helping her move. One hand moves restlessly over her chest while the other rubs her clit. His fingers occasionally rub against Pavel's cock.

He can feel Layla's arousal building, her rhythm turning jerky and uncoordinated. He steels himself for her orgasm; it's going to take all his self control not to come when she does.

"Pavel," his Master murmurs, running his hands over Pavel's sweaty skin. Those hands slide down to his hips and push down. His teeth latch onto Pavel's nipple and Layla comes. The pain helps him hold on, gives him something to concentrate on other than the feeling of Layla's orgasm.

"More?" he asks, turning into his Master. He inhales, filling his senses with the familiar scent. "Please more."

"Как вам будет угодно." McCoy summons Sam with a snap of his fingers. Sam's an experienced top; McCoy trusts him to take care of Pavel.

"Kate? You ready?"

"Oh, yes. Erik, use your tongue for something constructive will you?" Erik glances at Layla, who waves her hand carelessly in permission and sprawls naked in her chair so she can watch the floor show and catch her breath.

"Kate is going to ride you," his Master tells Pavel, and Pavel lets out a guttural, tortured moan when Kate sits astride him and sinks down without further warning. "And Sam's going to fuck you." Pavel thrashes when Sam's suddenly _there,_ filling him, pushing in in one slow stroke.

"You can come whenever you want or wait till I tell you," his Master says, rolling a nipple between his fingers. Sam and Kate move independently of each other, and the random sensations fuck with Pavel's head. Sometimes there's overlap, both of them moving together, and other times it's one right after the other in almost painful synchronicity. And then Sam will push in and stop moving while Kate twists her hips with unforgiving relentlessness.

"I will wait," Pavel says, straining up. The smile his Master gives him, the kiss bestowed on his lips in reward, is worth whatever torture they'll put him through. Waves of pleasure rise up in Pavel, but he's so used to holding on, holding out, that he doesn't let go, fights the need to come so hard he starts shaking when Sam finds his prostate and begins stimulating it mercilessly.

He doesn't start pleading with his Master until Erik bends over him, his chest pressed to Pavel's stomach, and begins licking at Kate's cunt, his tongue teasing her clit and Pavel's cock. He hear's McCoy's voice from far away telling him to be strong, to hold out, just a little longer, it'll be so good just a little longer.

A little longer, a little longer, alittlelonger, he repeats to himself.

"Пусти. Я держу тебя," his Master says, and Pavel doesn't understand but then there's the sharp, biting sting of hot wax over his chest and his control snaps and he howls. He loses his grasp on the world. Everything's too sharp and immediate.

He's not aware of Kate being pulled off of him only to transfer herself to Erik's lap, the two of them sinking to the floor to finish together; Layla joins in, directing them, adding her hands to their pleasure. Pavel swims up to lucidity with Sam still fucking him and he feels arousal building in him again already.

His Master speaks filthy words in his ear while another fucks into him; liquid wax falls onto his chest like painful raindrops and Pavel takes it all, lets himself drift along. Every touch, every movement sings through him. His mind is completely silent.

He's pushed up so that his head hangs off the table. His Master supports him, strong hands curving around his soul. Being pushed farther up makes Sam crawl onto the table, on his knees, Pavel's legs hoisted up over his arms. It changes the depth and angle of penetration and causes Pavel's body to jerk in pleasure. He's getting hard again--slowly, but his body can't help but respond to all the sensations.

"Pavel." He focuses on his Master, hovering over him, supporting his head. "Let me in." Pavel opens his mouth, neck arching back off the table, and relaxes his throat. He's pliant as his Master fucks his face, nose pushing against his Master's balls. His Master runs his finger over Pavel's throat and Pavel can _feel_ his Master's cock in throat, being touched inside and out.

"You have no idea," his Master says, voice shaking. Pavel swallows.

Both McCoy and Sam can see the outline of the cock in Pavel's throat, the skin and muscle tights around it. So far down and Pavel's just _taking_ it.

"Fuck, Len." That's Sam, his voice breaking for the first time, and he loses his rhythm. "He's, he's... _merde."_ Pavel whines when his Master pulls away, tries to chase him, but Sam pulls his hips down and the felt of the table rubs his back until the skin is too warm. Sam folds him nearly in half and fucks him hard, pins his shoulders to the table and uses all of his leverage to thrust. It steals Pavel's breath and it hurts in all the best ways and then Sam's coming apart above him, cursing in three different languages.

Sam slumps over Pavel after, breathing heavily and making tiny little sounds as he comes out of his sex haze. He laughs, a reflexive sound. Pavel squirms a little because he's hard again and this isn't the most comfortable position. He wants. That's all--he _wants._

Sam steps away and Pavel shivers. It's too cold in the room he needs warmth, he needs...he needs to come, to be touched, _more_. Rough fingers drag over his face and he turns into the touch blindly.

"Pavel." His Master's fingers circle his wrists lightly and keep them in place by his sides. Familiar lips brush across his own, light and teasing. They trail down Pavel's neck, chest, stomach. His mouth does wicked, terribly wonderful things to Pavel's cock. The head is so sensitive the roughness of his Master's tongue feels like sandpaper. It's the most exquisite form of torture imaginable and Pavel savors every moment.

"You can come when I do," his Master says benevolently and Pavel whimpers, thrusting his pelvis up in invitation. He can feel his Master's amusement. Moments later he feels more than that, his Master's erection pressing up against him.

Pavel had been ready for a hard, demanding fuck. He's wholly unprepared to be teased with tiny thrusts, having to work and beg and plead for every inch. His Master's shirt scrapes against his skin; his pants and belt add friction and a dash of danger.

This is different from all the others. Not just because it's Pavel's Master; it's a different pace, a different kind of touch. It's just between them, for them. His Master's teeth drag along Pavel's collar bone and finally fucks all the way in. Pavel hooks his ankles around his Master's waist, encouraging him to stay there.

"Greedy." Pavel doesn't disagree. His Master thrusts and nuzzles against Pavel's chest; Pavel flinches as bits of wax are flicked off of him, the skin underneath pink and tender. His Master's tongue chases away the sting.

It's not long before Pavel, already painfully hard, is struggling to hold on. His Master must know, always knows. His thrusts speed up and he raises Pavel's hands above his head. He holds both of Pavel's wrists in one hand and uses the other to around Pavel's cock. He pulls, thumb sliding underneath the head, along the slit, right at the base then down between Pavel's balls. He hits every sensitive spot Pavel has.

"Со мной. Cо мной!" His Master's fingers bite into Pavel's wrist, his body tensing as he comes. Pavel's fingers clutch around air. It takes him a minute to convince his body to let go but when he does--

Hands and rough cloth clean him up, and even though the touches are gentle and soothing they still sing along Pavel's nerve endings, pleasure and pain fighting for dominance. A warm voice tells him to let go, they've got him, so he floats away.

Pavel isn't sure how long he was out, but when he comes to he's wrapped in a blanket and being held. The minute he shifts someone doses him with hot tea. He grimaces at the taste but a sharp, feminine voice orders him to drink so he does. He's been sponged off, though he's still sticky in some places, and soreness lurks in his muscles. But he _feels_ damn good.

"We ran a bath," a soft voice says. "Nice and hot." Pavel cracks an eye open. Erik is standing over them, freshly showered and smiling softly. When he catches Pavel looking he grins and winks. Pavel blushes and smiles back tentatively.

"Great. Pavel, feel like getting clean?" His Master's voice rumbles through him.

"God, yes," Pavel sighs. A hot bath sounds like heaven right now. He's a little unsteady on his feet, but his Master makes it a moot point when he lifts Pavel in his arms with a grunt.

"Don't get used to this unless you want to stop eating." Pavel grins and wraps his arms around his Master's neck.

"Мой герой." His Master rolls his eyes but smiles down at him. Prickly on the outside, complete goo on the inside.

The bathroom is warm and inviting with the biggest tub Pavel's ever seen. The bath is scented and there's a light sheen of bubble on the surface; underneath it is a faintly medicinal scent. His Master gets in first and then beckons Pavel in. He settles against the broad, familiar chest and relaxes. He starts unpacking the memories of the night, the sheer wantonness of the whole thing, and finds himself blushing and grinning in equal measure. His Master's chuckle means he knows exactly what Pavel's thinking about.

"So it was good?"

"Exceptional."

They lounge in the bath until the water turns tepid and their skin is wrinkled. Before they get out his Master runs a stiff brush through Pavel's hair and the bristles feel amazing. He's humming, he realizes, when a low voice laughs and rests a hand on his chest to feel the vibrations. He sighs in contentment.

"Alright, I think it's bed time for all good little Russians," his Master says. Pavel agrees but he really doesn't want to move. "Come on, up. One carry per night."

They towel each other dry, stealing kisses the whole time. His Master is different here on Earth. His smile comes easier and stays longer. There will be no medical emergencies, no unwanted interruptions, no captains having crisis of faith... Pavel likes it and feels a slight pang that he won't get to experience more of it, but they both have obligations to their families.

The sheets are cool and clean against their bare skin. Pavel squirms back until he's pressed against his Master, the "little spoon" he's been told it's called.

"They are all your friends?" Pavel asks, already fading into sleep.

"Yeah, known 'em all for years. Won Layla and Sam in the divorce, though I was a little too messed up to realize it at the time. Layla's a dom. Erik is hers. They've been together for years now. Sam's a switch, used to play a lot with Kate. And Kate. Well Kate is a professional poker player." Pavel falls asleep laughing.

\---

Pavel wakes up to the smell of rich Earth food. There's bacon and real maple syrup and something that might be eggs. He's alone in bed, his body is deliciously sore and he's very hungry. He pulls on a soft pair of pants and stumbles into the main room.

The poker table has been shoved away and a long breakfast table sits in its place, piled with food.

Layla and Sam are sitting at the table sipping what Pavel strongly suspects are mimosas. He has an awkward morning after moment that Layla saves him from by grinning widely and bouncing in her seat excitedly.

"Pavel! You're up! Len swore we didn't break you but we refused to believe him until you made an appearance! You were awesome, such a great scene, I can't believe you've never done anything like that before. Come, sit down, eat something that isn't Star Fleet sludge."

"Breathe," Sam advises. Layla sticks her tongue out at him and pushes a full plate of food at Pavel.

"Len left that for you." It's basically heaven in food form and Pavel sets into the plate with gusto. It's all of his favorites and a few things he's never tried.

"That...is impressive," Layla says, chin propped up in her hand and eyes wide as she watches Pavel inhale his breakfast.

"That is being a teenage boy," Sam counters. Pavel looks up at them, embarrassed. Sam's shaking his head and grinning. Layla just looks generally delighted with the world.

"Oh good, the boy's up in time for twenty questions." Pavel feels vaguely unsettled when Kate slides into the chair next to him. She's just a collected and sharp as he remembered and he doesn't like the look in her eyes. She pops a hash brown into her mouth and purses her lips. Pavel feels like prey.

"Kate," Sam warns, "be nice." Layla snorts.

"So how attached are you to our Leonard?" is Kate's opening gambit.

"Kate!" Layla exclaims.

"I said _nice,"_ Sam says with exasperation.

"This is me being nice," Kate responds, still looking at Pavel. "So?"

"I...do not understand," Pavel hedges.

"Oh now, I think you do," Sam says, gaze pinning Pavel in place. He drops his eyes to the table and tries to shrink in on himself. Someone should be telling Sam to be nice.

"Oh y'all, we are not playing fair here," Layla admonishes. "Babe, you're the first person Leonard has introduced us to since Jocelyn. Hell, you're the first person he's played with on a regular basis in years. So you can understand why we're a little curious." Pavel digests this new information. Leonard had told him it had been a while, but Pavel never would have guessed it had been so long...or that he is essentially Leonard's kinky rebound from his wife. Some quick, sketchy math put Leonard's last serious play relationship at...about five years, pre-Pavel. Possibly more depending on how long it took to complete the divorce and the amount of time before Leonard enrolled in Star Fleet.

"You want to wear his collar," Sam says, sounding pleased. Pavel shakes his head and Layla makes a distressed noise.

"No, I would ask him to be my Master," Pavel admits. Layla gasps and Sam looks intrigued.

"He hasn't gone for that in the past," Sam muses. Pavel nods and tries not to be discouraged. He'd known that. Leonard is the kind of man who would not wear the mantle of Master lightly. And that's okay, Pavel's happy with what they have and he won't complain, but he can't help what he wants.

"That doesn't mean he won't go for it in the future," Kate says shrewdly. Pavel hates feeling so transparent.

The tension breaks when Leonard and Erik make a very noisy return to the apartment.

"Dammit, Erik, you grab my ass one more time and I'm going to take a strop to ya. Don't think Layla won't laugh the whole time!"

"But it's such a _nice_ ass," Erik whines. "It should be appreciated." Pavel's torn between being amused and feeling territorial, which is ridiculous because he's had sex with everyone in this room while Leonard watched. Also, he appreciates Leonard's ass--not to mention the rest of him.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't need your kind of appreciation and I have someone for that. Layla! Your boy has no respect!" There's a muffled thump as a suitcase hits the ground. "And no concept of personal space! _That was not an invitation to grope my front!"_

"Erik, heel!" Layla calls, laughing. She pushes away from the table and goes to rescue the boys from each other. Sam follows her when the sound of someone being spanked echoes through the suite and Erik starts vociferously protesting his innocence between laughs.

"I think," Kate says over the din, her voice low and even, "that he'll do anything for you." Pavel stares at her, trying to parse her meaning, but she doesn't so much as glance at him.

\---

Pavel spent most of the day after sleeping and being pampered. He'd had five people catering to his every whim, and Sam gave a massage that melted every bone in his body. McCoy had never strayed far away from him, always touching and petting. Everyone had left in the late afternoon leaving them alone, which suited Pavel just fine as they were both scheduled to go their separate ways in the morning.

"I will get to see my sister-cousin graduate," Pavel says. There's a vid playing in the background but neither of them are paying that much attention to. McCoy refrains from making a _Deliverance_ joke but something must show on his face because Pavel rolls his eyes and explains. "Her parents died when she was very young. She is less cousin and more sister."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

"Hmmm." Pavel tilts his head into the fingers playing with his hair. "Same age as you were when you stepped on the Enterprise."

"She will be design engineer," Pavel says confidently. "Big Russian company published their blue prints for new hovercar when she had fourteen years. She improved them and sent them back. They paid her big signing bonus and full scholarship on her sixteenth birthday."

"Jesus, you just come from a family of geniuses, don't you?" They lapse into silence and Pavel takes the time to figure out how to ask his question without giving too much away.

"And you are returning to Georgia?"

"Rented a house there. Got all this hazard pay and no where to spend it in space. Big backyard where I can play with Joanna. Not too far from her mom." Pavel's heart clenches a little at that. Logically he knows that Leonard and his ex-wife will never be again. She salted and burned his heart and soul far too thoroughly for that. But they will forever share something profound in their daughter, will always be tied to each other permanently.

"I get her mostly to myself for three months."

"Does not seem like enough," Pavel observes.

"No," McCoy says, voice soft. "It's never enough. But it's the best I can do."

***

McCoy stretches on the bleachers and watches Joanna tackle one of her teammates. He whistles and claps and stomps his feet. His kid is a badass. He envisions rugby scholarships in her future. Jo flashes him a smile and trots off towards the coach.

"Hi." He sits up straight, easy mood evaporated. Jocelyn sits down next to him. She looks like a Southern lady in her dress and broad-brimmed hat. For a moment he sees her as they first met, young and fresh and without heartache between them. And he realizes that beyond a twinge of nostalgia he feels...fine.

"She's good," he finally says, nodding towards the pitch.

"I have no idea where she got her killer instinct," Jocelyn says wryly. McCoy snorts.

"Really?" The look Joce slides him is pointed.

"I've always preferred to use my words."

"That you have," he acknowledges. Some of their more epic fights rise to the surface and he pushes them away before he gets angry again. Neither of them had been blameless. That puts an end to conversation for a while and he starts feeling guilty. He hates feeling guilty around Jocelyn. Makes him itch. But where he would once snap out something surly and cutting he keeps his peace. Watches his daughter run the ball down the pitch.

"You're different." For the first time when he glances at her Jocelyn's looking right at him. He looks back and after a moment they're, inexplicably, laughing. It's weird but better than feeling guilty.

"So really," Jocelyn says, wiping tears from her eyes, "what happened?"

There are so many things he could say. He's just spent two and a half years in space stitching up people who poke their noses in places no one's poked before. He's negotiated peace treaties, kept the Federation's youngest Captain and bona fide Space Hero from self destructing, and invented new medicines and surgical techniques because he had no other choice. He could pick from any or all of these.

None of them would be the answer. He knows exactly who changed him.

"You think we..." He still knows her well enough to read the flicker of emotions; Jocelyn never did like to take risks. She likes to analyze and evaluate and get all the pertinent information before moving. "We could try. To be...to be friends. Or at least people who talk. To each other."

For all the history and the pettiness between them, this hasn't been awful. They're both fighting not to slide into old, bad habits and it's not going to be easy but they're doing alright. And there's Joanna.

"I think we can manage that," he allows. They both glance at each other at the same time, in the same way, and they're laughing again. It's nice. Comfortable.

Three months until he gets back to the Enterprise. There's a special calendar on the wall with the date circled in red.

\---

It takes Irina and Petr three days to get Pavel alone. Normally he'd be surprised at how long it took but his mother had almost literally tied him to her apron strings the moment he walked in the door. As it is, he thinks they'll all end up owing Kirill for the distraction.

"Moy zaichik!" My bunny rabbit! Irina drags him into a hug despite his scowl. He hates that little pet name--he is no one's bunny--and she knows it. "You have grown up."

"I am working on a machine to freeze time," Pavel tells her.

"How do you know it hasn't already been done?" Petr asks. He slings an arm over Pavel's shoulders and hands him a newly opened bottle of high quality vodka. Pavel raises it in salute and takes a long draught. It's been too long and he chokes, which earns him some good-natured mocking.

"So tell us something," Irina says, and Pavel is wary of the glint in her eye.

"Who have you been doing in space?" Petr asks with false innocence.

Pavel hates twins. Particularly twins that finish each other's thoughts. Especially twins that are his siblings. But even that doesn't stop the blush that rises, or the ridiculous smile that stretches across his face.

"Oh wow," Petr says, and chugs from the bottle.

"Pavel!" Irina exclaims, but it comes out like an accusation. "Do not tell me you have fallen! Your career is far too young for that!"

"It is not..." Pavel trails off and sighs. He cannot explain their arrangement with his siblings. For one--no. For another, he is aware that something has changed between them. Has been changing. He finds himself thinking of McCoy as _Master_ and _Leonard_. The latter is odd as he'd been given permission from day one to use his dominant's first name but rare had been the time when Pavel had even thought it. But more and more often, it is not Doctor McCoy that Pavel sees or thinks of. It is his Master, Leonard, with a grin that gives him lines around his eyes and a deep laugh. Gentle hands that check every inch of Pavel's skin after they play together.

"It is nascent," Pavel settles on, because for all that they've done their connection is still young. Fragile but undeniable.

Irina and Petr share a look of quiet doubt, but they do Pavel the courtesy of not giving it voice, for which he is thankful. He finds tales of his away trips to be a good way to distract his meddlesome older siblings. He finds himself feeling suddenly selfish when it comes to his lover.

***

Pavel bounces impatiently as the speakers blare updates about the shuttle delay. He wanted to be on ship an hour ago but mechanical delays have all the shuttles backed up. They leave in three days and Pavel's not required to report for another two but five months is a long time and he's eager to see the ship, explore her changes and maybe--just maybe--see a certain CMO.

He's got a new bunk on a new floor, his own space though he still has to share a hall bathroom. He drops all of his things off and goes to explore.

He walks almost the entire ship, marveling at the technical upgrades, enjoying the new bridge interface that tracks crewpeople through their Fleet dog tags and can report their location. It's only accessible on the bridge for security reasons but Pavel can already half-see the code for making it ship-wide, keyed to staff voiceprint.

His exploration ends at the senior staff quarters. None of those have changed--on the outside at least. Pavel tries to contain his excitement as he approaches McCoy's door. It doesn't open. He tries the control but the computer only beeps at him. There's no response to the chime. For a brief moment Pavel wonders if something changed in the past five months. They hadn't really discussed...anything...before they left. They've exchanged messages and talked briefly over the leave, but they'd both been busy making the most of their time with family, so it's possible that things had changed.

"Hello, Lieutenant Junior Grade Pavel Chekov." Pavel spins around and Leonard...Leonard looks good. He's still in civilian clothes, worn jeans and a blue shirt. He's tan from the Georgia sun. And he's heard about Pavel's promotion. He steps into Pavel's space, pushes him right up against the door. He leans in and Pavel forgets how to breathe; he's almost positive Leonard is going to kiss him here, in the hall. They're so close. "They haven't set the biometrics." Pavel blinks and stumbles back when the doors open behind him.

Touching Leonard is like giving a dying man water. Their hands are in constant motion removing clothes, touching newly exposed skin, remembering each other. Pavel's fingers trip over a new scar on Leonard's back.

"Horseback riding," he grunts, pushing Pavel backwards, fumbling with Pavel's fly. "Fucker threw me." Pavel laughs and shimmies his hips so his pants fall to the floor. He toes his boots off and steps out of them and Leonard isn't naked enough.

"So skinny," Leonard says, running his knuckles over Pavel's ribs.

"My eldest brother and, and sister--mmph, _there, dah_ \--c-convinced me to run more." Leonard chuckles and nips at Pavel's ear.

"More than you did already?"

"They are marathoners." Pavel barely gets the words out. Leonard's driving him insane. And still isn't naked enough. Using the element of surprise, Pavel spins them and pushes Leonard to the bed. He bounces and pushes up on his elbows with a grin. Pavel makes short work of his pants, tossing them over his shoulder.

"Красивый," Pavel exhales. Leonard huffs and pulls him down.

"Blind as a bat and so young." He kisses Pavel and smiles. "Most unfortunate."

"Cynical and old," Pavel tisks, "how cliched." Leonard rolls them over and Pavel looses track of time and himself. He's aware of slick heat, large hands and pleasure. Of hands not his own touching him for the first time in far too long. He comes right after Leonard, the two of them lying atop their clothes.

He wakes up after a brief nap sprawled over Leonard's chest. Leonard's fingers dance down the knobs of his spine. He's grinning.

"Hi," Leonard says when he notices Pavel's regard, still grinning unabashedly.

"Hello," Pavel returns, and nuzzles close. He feels completely and utterly content.

***

"Bones."

"I'm not telling you a damn thing, Jim."

 _"Bones,"_ Jim whines. And pouts. Bones has obviously never read the BFF handbook which explicitly states BFFs much share all the dirty, dirty things they do with their significant others so that the BFF relationship doesn't wither and die.

"Jim." McCoy suppresses his smirk. Really, Jim's too easy. It's been fun winding him up over the past few weeks. Shouldn't be too much longer until he does something insanely stupid.

 _"Bones!"_

"Jim," McCoy sighs. "You'd have to see it to believe it."

And that's how James T Kirk came to be in his current predicament.

\---

He tries really, really hard not to be so turned on. This is not okay, this is...

Chekov swears in Russian, then starts to beg. Jim can't understand a word of it, but there's no mistaking the tone. And then Bones answers back. In Russian.

Oh God.

This is his best friend and his best navigator having a really kinky relationship behind his back. (He knew they were fucking but not that they were... _fucking._ Shit, Bones owes him an entire bottle of the good stuff for this.)

Chekov, clearly following instructions, puts his hands behind his back and leans forward. He _unbuttons Bones' pants with his teeth_ in what is clearly a practiced move and Jim just about gives himself away when he hits against the closet wall in his haste to get a hand on his dick to keep himself from coming on the spot.

Bones grunts and-and-and Chekov can deep throat like a porn star. Jim stares because he's pretty much reconciled with the fact he's going to hell several times over and this is really, really hot. And Bones was right--he never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He will never again look at Chekov the same way.

Bones pulls Chekov off and talks to him. There's a tenderness to him even as he twists his fingers in Chekov's hair and forces his head back. Jim uses the slight break in action to ease his fly open. The relief is wonderful. But he misses the link between clothed Chekov on his knees and naked Chekov folded over himself, forehead on the ground and arms delicately curved in front of him. Jim swallows as he realizes the position gives Bones an unobstructed view of Chekov's ass.

Jim contemplates the aesthetics of very pale Russian teenagers against dark carpet and comes up with _yes please_ and _fuck._

Bones is still talking in Russian. Chekov responds by raising up on his knees and widening his knees. Jim imagines the view Bones must be getting and chokes back a whimper.

No wonder Bones never even flinched when he'd walked in on Jim, no matter what he and his partner(s) were up to. Bones had never even _hinted..._ Jim's brain stutters to a stop.

Bones is rimming Chekov. Quite enthusiastically. And Chekov's fingers are buried in the short carpet fibers and the _sounds_ he's making are audible even in the closet. Bones for all that he's still fully clothed, looks to be enjoying himself very much.

Abruptly Bones pulls Chekov up and drapes him over his torso. Chekov's head rests on Bones' shoulder, his neck long and exposed, utterly boneless. It's clear Chekov isn't supporting himself and that Bones doesn't mind that fact one bit. The way his arms bulge--wow, that explains the extra time Bones has been spending in the gym.

There's a glint of metal at the tip of Chekov's cock that catches Jim's attention. He can't quite make out what it is--a piercing, maybe, and wouldn't that just beat all? Also, that means Chekov runs around with that little flash of metal all the time and--okay, wow. Yeah. Jim does not need that mental image as a distraction.

Bones twists one of Pavel's nipples and jacks him in long hard strokes, says dirty things Jim can't translate because he never learned a Cyrillic language. Which he's quickly coming to realize was a vast oversight on his part because whatever he's saying has Chekov worked up and writhing.

Jim is really very impressed with Pavel's self control. He'd have come a hundred times by now, would barely have made it past the first few minutes, but Pavel still hasn't come, no matter what Bones does. He teases the head of Pavel's cock, cups his balls, presses a finger expertly against his perineum. Pavel bears it all. It's beautiful, watching the play of Pavel's face. It looks like he's in the worst kind of pain, being tortured by an expert. He hisses out a long breath when Bone flicks the little metal thing back and forth.

Bones removes his hands, stops touching. Pavel's lower lip is caught between his teeth and his hips are thrusting into the air as if they'll find what they need there.

"Come," Bones orders, as authoritative as Jim's ever heard him, and bites down hard on Pavel's shoulder. Pavel tenses against Bones' body; his back bows and he comes with a strangled grunt. On command. Which is quite possibly the hottest thing Jim has ever seen in his life.

Bones rouses Pavel and helps him to bed then slides in next to him. Pavel sighs and tucks his head underneath Bones' chin.

"You can let yourself out, Jim," Bones calls out and Jim starts. He stumbles out of the closet and makes his way numbly to the door, but he can't help sneaking one last look at his best friend and his navigator curled together on the bed. Pavel waves lazily and Jim waves back, a little dazed.

The door closes on their laughter. Jim can't really hold it against them; he really wouldn't have believed it.

***

Kirk doesn't kick him off the bridge. McCoy'll have to remember to thank him later because protocol says he shouldn't be there, but Kirk just glances at him and then resumes negotiating. For Pavel's _life._ Pavel is _his_ and no one hurts what's his.

McCoy glares balefully at the Hathern High What-the-fuck-ever, his physician's eyes zeroing in on weak points and vital places that, if hit, would incur mortal wounds. He nearly growls when the alien's aide remarks about Chekov and Jessop's pleasing and unique coloring.

After fifteen hours of negotiation Kirk snaps and shows the Hatherns exactly what the Enterprise is capable of and what they can expect to face if his officers aren't returned _right the fuck now._ The Hatherns fall over themselves to return Kirk's people.

His boy.

McCoy makes M'Benga do Pavel's physical because the moment he touches Pavel he's going to lose it. He can feel Pavel's eyes tracking him around the room but he can't—he just can't. He's not in control right now, fear and adrenaline still warring in him, and he needs to get Pavel alone. No, he _needs_ to gain some perspective. He can't do his job if he's so distracted. Pavel has a dangerous job; they all have a dangerous job, surrounded by things that want to kill them, not the least being space itself.

He signs off on Ensign Kendame's medical report, all clear, nothing but the lingering trauma of being held hostage to deal with. He also signs his name to the other five excursion members clearing them for active duty; he pauses over Pavel's, reading through M'Benga's notes carefully. Bruises from restraint devices, some joint fatigue due to the way they had been bound. McCoy clamps down on the flair of intense anger that wells in him because _no one_ gets to do that to what's his.

McCoy is vaguely aware that he's sailed so far past The Line it's not even a landmark on the horizon. He can't be assed to care right now because in that tiny corner of his mind where he's completely truthful with himself he's known for a while.

He files the releases, calls into Kirk to give the all clear, and pours himself a hefty drink. He knows his staff are taking turns checking on him. He ignores them just like he ignores the way his hands shake lifting the glass to his lips. Jim joins him for his second drink but doesn't say anything, just pours him a third and lets him stew.

McCoy didn't notice Jim took his bottle until he starts looking for his fourth drink.

"Go home, Bones," Jim tells him.

"Pour me another drink," he counters. Jim doesn't do anything, just _looks_ at him with the maturity he's picked up from somewhere and McCoy sighs. Jim escorts him home in silence and leaves him at his door with a quick squeeze of his shoulder.

His quarters are dark, but he's not surprised to see Pavel start up from the couch like a whip when the lights turn on. The door whooshes closed behind him and they stare at each other in the ensuing silence.

"You're dressed," McCoy says stupidly. Pavel looks down at the loose medical scrubs and soft cotton shirt and flushes. He awkwardly starts shrugging out of his shirt but that's really not what McCoy meant. He makes a distressed noise and steps into Pavel's space, wraps his arms around his boy and buries his face in the crook of his neck. Pavel clutches him right back and it's not long before McCoy can feel wet tears soaking through his uniform.

It doesn't take Pavel long to quiet, his body lax with emotional catharsis. Pavel's touch turns tentatively seductive and McCoy grins in spite of the fear still clawing at him. He tilts Pavel's head back and wipes the tears away, then kisses him, possessive and demanding. Pavel moans and his hands come up to clutch at McCoy, a hold so tight it feels like desperation.

"Don't," McCoy gasps against Pavel's lips. He doesn't even know what he's saying, but Pavel seems to get it. He pulls McCoy's head up and presses brief, almost chaste kisses against his lips.

"Как вы хотите, moy Leonard," Pavel murmurs.

Leonard strips him efficiently, wanting to see for himself that Pavel is unharmed. He growls when he sees unfamiliar bruises. Pavel's skin is his; the marks are his right, no one else's. He walks Pavel back to the bed and lays him down. There's a tube of bruise cream in his night stand and he tracks down every single mark and treats it.

"You're mine," Leonard says, slathering cream on the last bruise. He turns away to put the cream away so he doesn't have to see whatever reaction Pavel has to that. He almost starts when Pavel's hand strokes up his spine. Pavel presses against his back and it's Leonard's turn to shake apart, the days events sweeping over him. Clinically he knows he's experiencing adrenaline drop, probably a mild panic attack as well. Inside he's so fucking terrified of something he doesn't even really have and finds he doesn't want to do without.

Pavel murmurs soothing words in Russian, the unfamiliar lilt lovely to listen to; Leonard doesn't translate them, finds he likes listening without hearing. When he finally pulls himself together Pavel's singing a Russian lullaby to him. Leonard snorts and Pavel presses his face into Leonard's back. There's a hysterical quality to their shared laughter that doesn't suit either of them.

He turns to Pavel and wraps him up, the two of them spooned together, exhaustion setting in bone deep. He orders the lights down and they lay there together, alive, not sleeping. Just touching.

"May I ask you something?" Pavel asks later, voice barely a whisper. His words glide along Leonard's skin.

"Yes." It's a dangerous agreement because he's not in any condition to lie or obfuscate; whatever Pavel asks will get the unvarnished truth out of him.

"Would you accept if I offered myself?" The only reason he pauses is because he forgets to breathe.

"Yes," he exhales into the darkness.

***

Things are weird between them but not in the way Leonard expected. They both put aside the power dynamics of their relationship without even talking about it. Pavel tends to lounge in Leonard's room with his biggest sweatshirt on. The bookshelf which held a handful of old Earth medical texts and a couple of classics is suddenly overflowing. Leonard doesn't understand Pavel's obsession with having actual books--or where he kept them all before--but he doesn't say anything.

One shore leave Leonard finds himself buying a collar. He's perusing stalls aimlessly when he comes across it. A circular weave at the front, intricate and ornate, reminiscent of Pavel's tattoo; the bands of the collar flow from it. There's no lock or tie. The ends are made to be woven into the pattern in a way that will keep them from unraveling so the whole look is one of uninterrupted cohesion. The vendor patiently walks Leonard through the steps. The people of this world have a very complicated weaving system that indicates one's lineage, standing in society, family ties and rites of passage. He doesn't ask the vendor what this weave means; it doesn't matter, it's all Pavel to him. He doesn't even haggle for it, just hands over the money as if in a daze.

Later that night, looking at his impulse buy, he contemplates what he'd be willing to give Pavel. He tries to find some boundaries, a line he wouldn't cross. He keeps thinking about it because he's not coming up with much of anything. And that's terrifying.

He knows there's something off about his behavior. Not enough that people who don't know him think something's wrong. Just enough that the people who do convince the ship shrink to eat lunch with him every day for a week. Leonard is disappointed in himself--it shouldn't have taken a week to drive him away.

Jim tries to talk to him but that's such a disaster they swear to never mention it again.

When he catches Spock actually looking concerned he knows he's got to snap out of it. The thing is, he still not quite sure what _it_ is, so that's a little easier said than done. But the way he catches Pavel looking at him sometimes, an amused little smirk curling at the corner of his lips, tells Leonard Pavel knows. So he can wait for Pavel to tell him. If he gets too bored he can always spank it out of the boy.

 _\---_

 __Pavel thinks about telling Leonard they're engaged and moving in together. It's clear Leonard knows something momentous happened between them, just not quite what. But it's so endearing the way Leonard frets. How he still stops short and gapes for a moment when he sees Pavel in their room wearing clothes. How he looks at the books lining his desk in bemusement.

Pavel does a calculation in his head. Using preexisting data points and close observation, he thinks another month. Four weeks and he'll have enough evidence to prove to Leonard that they work on all levels and his (frankly predictable) freak-out is unwarranted.

Pavel glares at the calendar on his data pad and urges time to go faster. But at least he has time to plan.

***

Pavel carefully prepares himself in his quarters. He kicked Hikaru out almost two hours ago so he'd have enough time for both the mental and physical preparations this night requires. He washes his hair with a special shampoo Gaila got for him, scrubs rough exfoliating soap over his body, and cleans himself inside. He takes the remainder of the time to kneel in the middle of the room, working his way down into his subspace, centering himself.

A soft chime tells him when it's time to go. He gets to his feet and slips into the well-worn pants and t-shirt he'd already set aside. His skin protests the feeling of clothing but it can't be helped; he can't walk through the hallways naked, though a part of him desperately wants people to know what's happening tonight.

He makes his way through the decks in a half-haze. He smiles a little when Mika falls into step beside him. They don't talk, she merely attends him to the lift where Percy is waiting. He feels a sense of deep and abiding gratitude for them; there is no House here, or even a real network. No structured system in place where this night would be marked with honor and celebration. But his friends know and they make sure he gets to Leonard's rooms without being interrupted.

Venga is waiting for him at the door, the only Dominant personality in his entourage. Though they didn't have a great dynamic mesh, Venga was always willing to help Pavel out when he could, and he's a good friend.

"You're sure about this?" Venga asks. Pavel lets his smile speak for him and Venga bows in acknowledgment. "May all your wishes be for what you already have." Venga steps aside and Pavel enters.

He kneels in the middle of Leonard's floor and waits.

\---

McCoy narrows his eyes at Chapel suspiciously, but she maintains her flat, uncompromising stare.

"There some reason you're trying to hustle me out of my own Sick Bay?" he asks. Chapel smiles serenely and refuses to move. Aeyon twirls her head tentacles around a finger and grins at him. McCoy can either continue standing in front of the door like an idiot or leave, but he sure as hell won't be moving forward. And he has no idea why—he hasn't been skipping meals, pulling longer that advised hours, or forgetting to sleep lately, so there's no real reason for them to be mutinying. Pavel's pretty much cured him of his bad habits. Though if he leaves now, he could probably ask Pavel to his room...

McCoy gives one las half-hearted grumble and stalks out of his Sick Bay, head held high. It takes him a few corridors to realize he's picked up a shadow.

"Lieutenant Horaz."

"Venga, please. We're both off duty." McCoy glances at him skeptically, wary of any conversation that starts off acknowledging that the chain of command does not apply.

"Venga, then." He doesn't offer a name and from the slight quirk of Venga's brow he catches it. There's a subtle tension to them that make the Dominant in Leonard sit up and take notice. He's not unaware that Venga's in the scene, though their dynamics aren't too similar. Venga's quite the sadist and while Leonard isn't above some mild pain play Venga's level is far beyond him.

The lift opens on Leonard's floor but he doesn't exit immediately. He turns to Venga and waits expectantly. Venga meets his gaze evenly, stoically, and then cracks a small smile.

"You'll do. And you'll do well, I think." It's both a warning and an instruction. For what he's not sure, but he nods anyways.

He's trying to figure out how he wants his boy tonight—dark cuffs on his wrists and ankles, ringed, plugged and clamped has such a delicious appeal—when he gets to his room. All of his plans fly away from him.

Pavel kneels naked in the middle of the floor, furniture pushed back against the walls so that he's the only thing to looks at. He's deep in his subspace, Leonard can tell by the easy way he kneels on the floor, looking like he could continue doing so for the rest of his life. His eyes are cast down demurely, palms flat on his thighs, spread to show off his erection. Silently, Leonard approaches his boy, stopping just short of touching him.

"Pavel," he says, his voice deep in the expectant silence. Pavel folds himself over, forehead pressed to the floor. His hands cross delicately at the wrists and come to rest just shy of Leonard's feet. The skin of his wrists are as smooth and pale as the rest of him, the last signs of his captivity faded away with judicious applications of the dermal regenerators.

He turns and leaves Pavel there.

He strips out of his uniform and changes clothes. He puts on a pair of soft black dress pants, the thick material heavier than his uniform bottoms. He picks out a deep blue shirt Jo had given him, the one Jim told him brings out his eyes. He pulls the little cloth bag out of his sock drawer.

When he returns to the main room Pavel hasn't moved.

"Kneel." Pavel rises. His knees are pressed together, his back a straight line. His eyes never stray from the ground, appropriately downcast. A supplicant waiting to be acknowledged. Beautiful.

"Do you want this? Really want this?"

"I do." The tiny little smirk Pavel has on his face is comforting, even if his words hit a little too close to the mark. "I would be honored to call you Master."

Leonard smiles and cups Pavel's face, runs the pad of his thumb over Pavel's lips. "Like you don't already." Pavel blushes and shifts; Leonard feels a little guilty because he hadn't meant it as censure. "You..." Christ, Kate had sent him a very long e-mail about his feelings for Pavel, Pavel's feelings for him, and attached several different collaring ceremonies and vows in her oh-so-helpful way. He remembers every single one and none of them _fit._

"I wasn't expecting you," is what he says. Pavel, as he's always done, just waits for him to make sense. His eyes are still on the ground but his attention is entirely focused on Leonard. "I wasn't looking for you and I never thought we'd end up here. I'm a cranky bastard and you're sunshine and puppy dogs." Pavel grins and Leonard is far too old for the way his heart twists at the sight. "And you're mine. God help me, you're mine and I aim to keep you. I will give you everything you need. I will do everything in my power to do right by you."

"I am yours," Pavel said in the sincere way that always made Leonard feel old and jaded. And humble. "I want to wear your collar with pride. To bear your marks and make you smile, to give you everything that I have, all that I am. To call you my Master in every way. I want these things," and here Pavel's voice catches, stumbles for the first time. Leonard has to hold himself back and let Pavel finish. "I want all of these things. What I need is you."

It's impossible not to remember their first conversation. A beginning, less charged and noticeable than the beginning they're starting now but no less important. And for all this is how they express themselves, Pavel's right--the only thing they really need is one another.

His hands only shake a little as he pulls the dark brown collar out of its bag and presents it to Pavel. The sharp inhale and shaky, awed smile makes Leonard's heart beat harder. Pavel leans forward and kisses the central knot. Leonard kneels.

"Look at me." Pavel's gaze never wavers as Leonard pulls and tucks the collar's ends until the leather fits snugly against Pavel's neck. It's just a beautiful as he thought it would be; Pavel will have to wear the high-collared undershirt to stay reg-compliant.

Leonard leans in and kisses his Pavel. His and no one else's. He lets that knowledge over take him and presses Pavel back against the floor. Pavel laughs and pulls him closer, wraps his legs around Leonard's hips and arches up. The glint in his eyes and way he rubs up against Leonard in decadent promise. Pavel arches his neck back, showing off his new collar.

Maybe he's not so doomed after all.


End file.
